ALIEN’S HEART

OUTLAW PLANET MATES

NANCEY CUMMINGS

Copyright © 2022 by Nancey Cummings

Cover by Kasmit Covers

Art by Ruslana Shybinska

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Created with Vellum

CONTENTS

About Alien’s Heart

The world of Outlaw Planet Mates

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Epilogue

Afterword

Outlaw Planet Mates

About the Author

Also by Nancey Cummings

Available in Audio

ABOUT ALIEN’S HEART

A former prison planet is no place for a soft heart.

Perrigaul’s a survivor. He’s also a thief, a con artist, and, very occasionally, a murderer. What he is not is a nanny, yet here he is, stuck with an impossibly tempting human female.

Miriam is soft and kindhearted and completely unsuitable for this outlaw planet.

How can Perrigaul keep her safe from the worst the planet has to offer? Especially himself?

Alien’s Heart is a fast-paced romance banter, backstabbing, and a Happily Ever After. While it follows events from Alien’s Challenge, it can be read alone.

THE WORLD OF OUTLAW PLANET MATES

Reazus Prime is a hard planet. Once a prison, it was abandoned once the mines dried up and the Overlords could no longer turn a profit off the prisoners. Now it’s a haven for outlaws, pirates, and anyone holding a grudge against authority.

It’s isolated, alone, and the only ships coming are the worst sort. One such ship carrying a cargo of abducted human women explodes in orbit. A lucky few were ejected in pods, only to crash on the outlaw planet.

Now the race is on to find and claim the human females.

PROLOGUE

MIRIAM

MIRIAM COULD ADMIT when she was wrong. Unfortunately, she was wrong often, so she had a lot of practice. Or fortunately, depending on your perspective and how polished you liked your apologies.

Apparently, she needed more practice because she absolutely bungled this one. Miriam screwed up at work by posting pictures of discarded books on the internet. How else would a library make room for new books unless they got rid of the old ones? Especially the ones that were falling apart. High schoolers weren’t gentle on books. There were greasy fingerprints, doodles in the margins, and so many stains—coffee, soda, melted chocolate, and what she really hoped was ketchup.

The internet did not understand, and her friend Alice suffered the consequences of Miriam’s post. Miriam brought pizza—fine, with a cauliflower crust—to apologize, but clearly, Alice wasn’t in the mood for low-carb pizza.

I should have brought the beer.

Miriam had the six-pack in hand but decided that the locally produced craft beer was too pretentious.

And cauliflower pizza isn’t?

Following Alice to a campsite in the middle of the woods? Totally not creepy. She was enthusiastic.

Mistakes were made. Miriam could own up to that—another thing she had plenty of practice at. Okay, full disclosure: guilt turned Miriam’s stomach into a swirling pit of acid. She had heartburn all day, and the idea of waiting until Monday to apologize was unbearable.

Impulsively, she decided that fixing this couldn’t wait. Here she was, out here in the woods with pizza in hand because she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she fixed the mess she made.

Apologies didn’t really matter when a bright white light blinded them and then the world went dark.

THREE YEARS LATER

THE WORLD SWAM back into focus. Her head pounded and burned almost everywhere: behind her eyes, at the base of her head, and at the top of her head. Her hair felt heavy.

Nausea surged through her.

Miriam rolled to the side as her stomach heaved. Nothing came up except the bitter taste of bile and something. Plastic? Burnt plastic? Was this food poisoning? Too much beer?

“Here. Take it easy.” Alice held a cup of water to Miriam’s mouth and tipped a small amount in.

Fuzzy memories of the previous night came back. Pizza. Crashing Alice’s camping spot.

Lights from above.

Then nothing.

Miriam took another sip, washing away some of the funk in her mouth.

“What happened? Was the pizza bad?” She’d never gotten sick from that place before, but things happened.

“This is going to sound out there, but it’s a hundred percent true,” Alice said. “We were abducted by aliens.”

“Sure,” Miriam said automatically, not really hearing the words. “What time is it? Do you have some ibuprofen? My head is killing me.”

“Aliens. For real. We’re not on Earth.”

Aliens. Whatever.

Miriam’s head lolled to the side. Alice was fucking with her. Had to be.

Alice turned to speak to someone out of the room.

It was weird that they were in a room and she was in a bed, come to think of it. Did they ditch the campsite and check into a hotel?

Miriam struggled to sit up and ask when a red lizardman entered the room.

She fainted.

CHAPTER 1

MIRIAM

FOUR MONTHS LATER

BEING ABDUCTED by aliens was not as exciting as Miriam expected.

After being snatched, she had been kept in a freezer—sure, there was a technical name, but it was a freezer—for three years. Three years! While she slept with the popsicles, she missed out on a train robbery, fist-fights, high-speed chases, stealing shuttles, getting tossed in jail for stealing shuttles, and then busting out of jail.

Did Miriam get train robberies or even a little grand theft auto? No. She got to haggle over falling-apart books in a perfectly safe marketplace in the perfectly safe human refugee enclave, all while her babysitter watched.

Perrigaul folded his arms over his chest, scowling at everyone in the vicinity and generally radiating menace. He had a face made for menace: lizardy and covered in red scales. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, which kept his face in shadow. A thick red tail swayed behind him. Miriam wondered if the swaying tail was a sign of agitation like in a cat.

Her charming babysitter.

Nothing exciting ever happened for Miriam—other than the abduction, obviously. Ever since her friend Alice found her and woke her from her deep sleep, she’d been kept in a secure compound near a human-friendly settlement. She wasn’t allowed out of the compound unsupervised—hence her scowly, scaly babysitter.

She was thankful she was safe. She’d been grabbed by aliens to be sold at auction to be a pet or a sex toy, and slept through the terrifying parts and post-traumatic stress, although confined, dark spaces freaked her out now. She skipped right to living happily ever after. Only this didn’t feel like the end of her story. How could this be the end when she never even started?

Sure, interesting things and people were all around. She was on an alien planet with aliens from all over, even other humans. A surprising number of humans, to be honest.

How many people vanished and no one noticed?

A chip implanted in her head allowed her to speak and read almost any language. She had a literal galaxy of new books to read. It was a book nerd’s dream come true.

“You have a good eye,” the merchant said from across the tent. The tarp kept off the worst of the summer sun, even though it was stiflingly hot without a breeze. The merchant had wings tightly folded against her back, a crown of horns on her head, and stone-gray skin, and she wasn’t the strangest alien she’d seen.

When Alice opened the stasis chamber Miriam had been stored in for three years, she barely believed what Alice told her. Abducted by aliens. Sure. Miriam would have believed they were sharing a hallucination brought on by funny mushrooms on the pizza—the guy at the pizza shop was dodgy that way—but aliens? Come on. Miriam was open-minded, but she wasn’t gullible.

Except all the evidence pointed to them being on a spaceship. In space. Her head had hurt, making it hard to think, and everything felt like she was swimming underwater, and then the giant red lizardman walked through the door…

Miriam might have barfed and fainted. Not her proudest moment.

Look, she had a bad reaction. She was also sick from weird drugs. That didn’t mean she was delicate and couldn’t handle dealing with the world. She could. She was dealing. She was dealing so well.

Miriam turned the book over in her hands. It was a field guide to herbs. As curious as she was about the local plant life, she didn’t want to appear too interested. Apparently, on this planet, no one believed in simply putting the price on the product.

“That is a very rare and valuable volume,” the merchant said.

Cracking open the book, she pointed to a scrawled name next to a stamped logo on the flyleaf. The book was issued by the company that ran the place back when it was still a prison planet. Hardly rare, and this lady wasn’t a bookseller. She operated the equivalent of a flea market, rolling into the settlement once every few weeks with a new collection of odds and ends. The books were stuffed into a single crate.

Miriam said, “You had a different copy of this book when you were here last month. The inscribed name is different.”

The merchant’s wings fluttered, giving her an annoyed air. Perrigaul must have thought so too; he placed a hand on the holstered weapon on his hip.

The wing fluttering ceased. “How observant, human.”

Miriam lifted a shoulder in a shrug. The gesture probably failed to translate—different cultures, different bodies—but she didn’t feel like explaining herself. She was a librarian, not that her profession gave her super observation powers. She had a good memory for recalling what she read, which was extraordinarily useful when pulling references or helping a student find a book “that had a bridge and a dog” that they read last year but couldn’t remember the name.

Not that any of her former life helped her now. Reazus Prime had no libraries. Schools, if they even existed, were informal and small. Actual physical books were scarce. Most data and literature were digital, read via tablets and specialized devices, which were pricey.

Alice shared her tablet with Miriam, but two voracious readers sharing one tablet was a recipe for trouble. She should ask for her own, but Alice and her alien mate, Faris, had already done so much for her. They pulled her from the stasis chamber. They gave her the deluxe translation chip that allowed her to speak and read more than a dozen alien languages. They even gave her a modest allowance and didn’t expect any labor in return.

Miriam couldn’t ask for more.

Not even when she was bored out of her skull, sitting inside the compound, reading the same books day after day. When she tried to help chop veggies in the kitchen, Perrigaul took the knife from her hand. When she tried to clean the bathroom, Perrigaul hustled her out, claiming that the chemicals were too caustic. When she tried to pull weeds in the garden, Perrigaul loomed overhead and told her that exposing herself out of doors was unsafe.

It was exhausting and suffocating.

Alice got the same treatment, but Alice was pregnant. Apparently, that was a thing that could happen. Humans were universal breeders.

Getting with an alien didn’t bother Miriam so much. She read certain books, watched certain movies. Her first childhood crush had been the entire cast of a popular show about mutant kung-fu turtles. She was okay with non-human love interests. Perrigaul was even sort of good-looking when he wasn’t being all, “No, fragile human, why do you insist on almost dying?”

The constant babying had to stop. It was fine for Alice. This was her first pregnancy, and she was growing something more complicated than the basic human model. Miriam was in the splash zone—so to speak—and did not appreciate being drenched with secondhand overprotective care.

In the four months since being pulled out of the stasis chamber, everyone still treated her like she was ill. True, sometimes she stumbled onto a gap in her memory or struggled to find a word for a thing she should know. Sometimes her mouth said something completely disconnected from what she was thinking. It was a side effect of the stasis chamber. Anesthesia-induced short-term memory impairment. Brain fog. She wasn’t ill. The physical side effects vanished after the first few weeks.

All that was left was the brain stuff. She didn’t need a babysitter.

Miriam knew what it was to be seriously ill. She survived childhood leukemia. Even after the treatments finished and she had been given the all-clear, there were still endless checkups and tests. Every bruise, every fever, and every time Miriam felt tired was met with overreaction from her two mothers. If they could have wrapped the world in bubble wrap, they would have. Instead, they swaddled Miriam to the point of suffocation. No sports, no playing outside, no dance, no karate, and absolutely no doing anything that could remotely be fun.

Could anyone blame Miriam for going to a college on the other side of the state and immediately enrolling in martial arts classes? Some people rebelled with alcohol and tattoos. She rebelled with distance and self-defense lessons. Every bruise might as well have been a tattoo with as much defiant pleasure she gained from the mottled black and blue marks.

“I think you are looking for something more intriguing,” the merchant said.

“I’m looking for something to read, but you keep hauling back the same old box of tatty books,” she replied.

She grinned, her stony skin stretching for a toothy and remarkably unsettling display. “Those? They are garbage. Let me show you a true, one-of-a-kind tomb.”

“Tome,” Miriam muttered, filling in the mistranslation. At least she hoped this gal didn’t mean tomb.

She disappeared behind a curtain, reemerging with a small, flat box.

Miriam recognized the shape of the archival box, or her brain slapped that label on the box. The merchant could have anything in there: buttons, kittens, cigars. Okay, probably not kittens. The box was way too small and lacked air holes.

The merchant set the box down on an overturned crate with dramatic flair. She lifted the lid to reveal a tattered leather journal. “Behold, the personal diary of Kiani Mer’len.”

PERRIGAUL

The Khargal merchant was insufferable. The female played Miriam, showing her the obvious junk, then dazzling her with more junk disguised as promised treasure.

“Merlin,” Miriam repeated, like the name was magical.

“Kiani Mer’len, one of the original Overlords on Reazus Prime. He tamed this wild planet with hard justice and even harder labor,” the merchant replied, turning up the drama to ridiculous levels. She held the journal in one hand, flipping through the pages. “Mer’len plundered Reazus Prime for his gain, and his lavish tastes were well known. He surrounded himself in an opulent palace, spending his fortune on treasures from all across the quadrant. The Emperor’s Eye of Nakkon. The Exiled Heart of Duras. The Key of Evil. When the Overlords fell, he vanished, but not before securing his treasures in a hidden location. Did he leave clues? Perhaps. Can you puzzle out the clues with the journal? Who can say?”

It took all Perrigaul’s control not to laugh. The Key of Evil? That was not an actual thing.

Miriam, the poor female, leaned forward, absolutely enraptured by the merchant's falsehoods.

“That is fake,” Perrigaul said, standing over her shoulder.

“I assure you, it is the genuine article,” the merchant said, placing the journal back into the box. She slammed the lid shut, acting outraged.

“No, wait,” Miriam said, her voice too eager.

The merchant’s wings fluttered.

The price just doubled, Perrigaul knew.

“How much?” she asked.

Rotza. The female is too soft for this planet.

Perrigaul pulled her away and hissed, “Is this your first time at a market?”

“It’s my money. I can spend it on what I want.” She jerked her arm away.

Tripled. The price just tripled. The merchant practically rubbed her hands together with glee.

“It is actually my currency,” Perrigaul said, and immediately realized his mistake.

Miriam’s back straightened. She stared directly at Perrigaul, stubborn resolve burning in her eyes. She asked in a loud voice, never breaking eye contact with him, “How much?”

She was rather intriguing when she was stubborn. For a scaleless human.

The merchant quoted an eye-watering figure.

Miriam had a small allowance, taken from the group’s shared funds. He had not been consulted on this so much as told. Miriam needed to feel independent and in control of her choices, Alice had once lectured him when he grumbled. Giving Miriam her own supply of credits gave her a sense of security. He could appreciate that. He valued his security and well-being. Having a generous reserve of credits certainly made him feel secure, but to waste it on such an obvious fake…

It was an insult.

She slapped down a credit chip on the crate. “Toss in the guidebook and we have a deal.”

His heart sang for the wasted credits.

“Miriam,” he said, stressing each syllable to give her as much respect as possible. “Do you know how much ore, weapons, or engine parts that amount of credit can purchase? Because I do.” He stole them, after all.

“I don’t want weapons. I want to find Merlin’s treasure.”

He ran a hand up the back of his head, fluffing the feathered quills. “You must learn better bartering techniques. Do not tell the merchant how much you want the item or the price will increase.”

“I have another party interested—” the merchant started, but stopped when Perrigaul placed a hand on his holstered weapon. “Thank the stars we have already agreed to a price. I would not dream of charging you more.”

“Liar,” Perrigaul muttered, removing his hand.

Miriam’s eyes went wide, then they narrowed. “Was that necessary? Are you going to start shooting people because they’re trying to make a living?”

“A living? No. Robbing me blind? Yes. Your heart is too soft.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my heart.” Her tone sounded brittle. She grabbed the journal and the previous book, a tattered field guide to Reazus Prime plant life.

This was going to be a problem.

CHAPTER 2

MIRIAM

“FINE. IT WAS A WASTE OF MONEY,” Miriam said, stuffing the books into her bag as they left the tent. Perrigaul hadn’t said anything, but he didn’t need to. He just had to look at her with those eyes, all judgy, and then his feather crest did a thing. You know, that thing where they went up once in surprise and then flat with disappointment.

She wasn’t a violent person, but it was really hard not reaching over and plucking out those disapproving feathers.

“You would have done better to set the credits on fire. At least then we’d have a fire to warm us,” Perrigaul said.

“The last thing we need in this heat is a fire.”

“That is… that is not the point I am making,” he said, stumbling over his words as if she flummoxed him.

Good. Perrigaul deserved to be flummoxed.

Miriam took off into the market, not entirely sure of her destination. It didn’t matter. Perrigaul wouldn’t let her out of his sight, which added to her irritation.

She was a grown adult. She knew you didn’t happen across treasure maps at a flea market. This wasn’t Treasure Island. She understood the difference between reality and fantasy, even if books had been her friends as a kid. Her only friends, really. Leukemia kept her out of school for a long time, and when she was finally able to attend, Miriam discovered she didn’t know how to talk to kids her own age. It was like all the other kids at school had a secret handbook on how to make friends, and all Miriam had was a gap in her developmental socialization.

See. That right there. No seven-year-old should know words like that, yet seven-year-old Miriam had been acutely aware of the lack of development in her socialization skills.

She stooped to pluck a fluffy purple blossom growing between the paving stones. It reminded her of a dandelion when the fluff was ready to be scattered on the wind. She took a breath and visualized what she wanted.

Intentions and actions. Visualize and actualize. It was cheesy, but the phrase popped up one day on her daily meditation app and it stuck.

“That is a weed,” Perrigaul said.

“I think it’s pretty.”

Right. She knew what she wanted. She closed her eyes and blew, scattering the fluffy seeds.

Now, time to actualize her intentions. She resumed her walk.

“Miriam,” he said, stressing each syllable of her name. Meer. Ree. Um. She almost wanted to like how oddly formal it sounded, except when he was being condescending.

He trotted alongside her, matching her hurried steps with ease. “Tell me where you are going.”

“I’m getting a drink,” she said. The moment she said it, she wanted nothing more than a cold beer. Not that she was a big fan of beer, but she needed something with alcohol in it.

“We have beverages at our abode.”

“Herbal tea and fruit infusions.” She rolled her eyes.

“You like herbal tea and fruit infusions.”

She did, particularly a tea made from dried violet-colored flower petals that tasted like caramel.

She stopped in front of a dingy yellow door. “This place looks good.”

“No.”

“I’m going to need more than no.” Her voice went gruff, mocking Perrigaul’s stern tone. Most days they got along like oil and water: incompatible but fine as long as they remained unshaken.

She wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him so hard.

“That is not the place for a female like you,” he said.

She was going to shake him like a can of soda and stand back when the lid popped.

Miriam sighed. She just wanted a drink with booze. “I can take care of myself.”

“Incorrect—”

“You are a fragile human female,” she intoned as he said his catchphrase.

His feathers went back. “You mock me, but I am tasked with your safety.”

She appreciated that she was on an alien planet. Really. And this planet was apparently a lawless pirate haven. No rules. You only survived if you could take care of yourself and females were a valuable commodity. The settlement was safe, or as safe as any place ever got here, but bad stuff happened. Someone could snatch her, and that was why she had her babysitter. “I thought your job was to glare at people to keep them from getting ideas.”

“Yes, and it is prudent to avoid taunting the opportunist. Do not wave your tail in the face of opponents you do not wish to fight.”

“So you don’t know how to handle yourself in a fight?”

He gave her a cool look. “Insulting me will not work.”

Yeah, well, being patient and understanding hadn’t worked either.

“If I can take you down, we drink where I want.” Her words flew in the face of the code of conduct of her Krav Maga training. Her instructor would be disappointed, but her instructor wasn’t here, and really, she only suggested a round of friendly sparring. She wouldn’t think too hard about the fact that she desperately wanted to teach Perrigaul a lesson.

If she twisted logic enough, she was acting in self-defense. He was smothering her. This whole planet was smothering her. She had to stand up for herself before his misplaced concern and care smothered the life out of her. This place only understood violence and only respected those who could hurt you, so that had to be her tool.

I shouldn’t like it so much.

His feathers went up and down in that judgy way. “You cannot.”

Try me.

Miriam gave him a slow smile. “If you best me, we can have an iced fruit infusion or share a milkshake,” she said.

His tail twitched, as if sensing a trap, and glanced around. They were attracting a few curious watchers. She was new to this world and probably too trusting, but even she understood that spectators were not a good thing. This needed to be over. Fast. But if she backed down, Perrigaul would never respect her.

Right. Only one thing to do.

“I do not wish to hurt you,” he said. “Faris will pluck my scales out one by one if I hurt you.”

She huffed. “I’m not afraid of a bruise or two.”

“Very well,” he said.

She dropped the bag to the ground and stretched her arms overhead. The white blouse and plain trousers were simple and allowed ease of movement.

She moved into a fighting stance and eyed her opponent.

Visualize and actualize.

Perrigaul was taller than her by a few inches and had more muscle, but most people did. Her height was perfectly average, but her build was slender and she had a baby face. As a teen, she despaired of being pint-sized forever. Finally, at the ripe old age of sixteen, she shot up two inches one summer. The baby face remained.

Okay, taller and heavier. Not a problem. Most of the people she sparred with at the studio were, and they underestimated her. Judging from the way Perrigaul huffed, he underestimated her too. She could use that to her advantage, but only for the first bout, so she’d need to end it fast.

Good thing she was fast.

Street fights were dangerous because no one pulled punches like in the gym. They aimed to hurt. Miriam was counting on Perrigaul to go easy on her. He would be too afraid of hurting her to hit with any real conviction.

Mentally, she made a list of places to strike and avoid. Eyes, yes. Throat, maybe. She wasn’t sure how much protection his scales offered, so best to avoid them. Jaw, no. He had a few small spikes at the corner of his jaw, near his ears, and she wasn’t sure how hard they were. Alice kissed her Faris, so they couldn’t be terribly sharp, but they definitely wouldn’t feel good if she slammed her fist into one.

The frill on the side of his neck? The membranes looked vulnerable, even delicate. Better avoid. She wanted to make a point, not damage him.

Head feathers? Yes. Pull those suckers out. They regrew.

Tail? Stomp if she had a chance.

Balls?

She eyed his groin area. He had balls. Probably. Not that she’d seen any alien genitalia, but she operated under the impression that his kind had wieners.

Miriam positioned her arms defensively and gestured for him to attack.

He gave her a mocking grin, then charged.

Miriam dashed forward, wrapping one arm across his chest. She moved to the side to place her hip under his and leaned forward, dragging Perrigaul back.

He was heavy. The tail—she forgot to account for the tail. It battered at her feet, making her unstable. Perrigaul flipped over her back. Nothing short of reversing gravity would stop that, but it wasn’t a clean throw. He dragged her down with him.

She landed on his chest, her elbow digging into his abdomen. That wasn’t intended, but she went with it, scrambling to straddle him and pin his arms down with her legs.

He bucked, trying to dislodge her. She grabbed a handful of feathers.

“Do not,” he warned. “I am too pretty to be bald.”

“Then yield.”

He growled in reply. It… it was hot. It shouldn’t have been, but she felt the growl all the way to the center of her body. For the first time since she had been dragged out of that pod, she felt… warm. Alive, like the fog finally burned away.

The vertical slit of his pupils expanded.

Not good. He was fighting dirty.

She could fight dirtier.

PERRIGAUL

The female straddled him.

Since liberating her from the stasis chamber, he tried not to look at her too closely. It was bad enough that she required constant supervision; he did not need the added complication of physical attraction. He did not dislike Miriam, but he disliked change. He disliked having to support another person from his dwindling savings. He especially disliked that Faris would not take another job while his mate was pregnant. So, to sum up, he was a petty male who took his dissatisfaction out on a blameless person.

Whose hair glinted with red and gold in the sunlight.

Who had him on his back.

Who straddled him and had him by the quills.

It was almost enough to make his two hearts beat in unison.

“How—”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” she said.

“You will tell me now.” Although Perrigaul already knew the answer. She used his arrogance and hubris against him. “You pretended to be vulnerable and weak to trick me. That is admirable.”

And attractive. He felt as if he were seeing Miriam with new eyes. She was no longer the fragile, confused human female they rescued from the pod, but someone bolder, someone capable.

“You might as well yield,” she said.

“I will not.”

She stared down at him with her strange, round eyes. He could remove her if he wished. She weighed nothing. Rolling to the side, he could pin her to the ground. Oddly, he enjoyed this position.

Her eyes flicked to the right.

He grabbed the hand reaching for his pistol. “You are fast but not fast e-e-enough!”

He gasped and laughed uncontrollably as her other hand tickled his frills. It was unbearable. Undignified. He couldn’t catch his breath long enough to think about stopping her. His body thrashed, his arms pinned to his side and his tail useless on the ground.

“Have—have mercy,” he gasped.

“Do you yield?”

He’d rather pull his scales out than admit defeat by tickles.

He rolled, easily bucking off her weight, and flipped their positions. With a triumphant grin, he planted a hand on either side of her head. He had her where he wanted her.

She stared up at him, eyes wide in surprise. They were an interesting shade, brown but warm, like honey.

Her lips were a dusty shade of pink and he wondered if they could possibly be as soft as they looked. She licked her bottom lip.

A pistol cocked, then jabbed him in the abdomen.

“How about now?” she asked.

MIRIAM

Some people didn’t know when to quit.

Miriam waited as Perrigaul calculated the odds of avoiding getting shot in the gut. She wouldn’t pull the trigger—she wanted to prove a point, not murder the guy.

He laughed, rolled to his feet, and offered her a hand up. “You are a cheater. I approve.”

“There are no cheating moves in a fight,” she said, quoting an instructor from long ago. Of course, that had been about self-defense, not whatever just happened.

“You wanted a drink,” Perrigaul said, retrieving her bag and handing it to her.

A crowd had gathered. The extra eyes made her nervous.

She clutched the bag to her chest. Maybe that bar was a bad idea at the moment. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder and moved in that direction. “I think I’d like an iced fruit, actually.”

His quills went up, but he didn’t question her. “I dare not complain or you will pluck the quills from my head.”

“I’d grab your earrings first,” she blurted out, for some unknowable reason.

“That is a strategic choice,” he said with a nod. Warm approval filled his voice.

Miriam nearly stumbled in surprise. He never spoke to her that way. Patronizing, irritated, even vexed? Sure. All the time. He didn’t like having to babysit her as much as she disliked having a babysitter.

Now it sounded like they might be, well, not friends, but strangers who were forced into the same orbit because their friends were dating and they begrudgingly respected each other.

Or whatever the word was for that.

A street over and through the marketplace, Miriam ordered two shaved iced fruits. The frozen treat was served in a half-shell of the fruit with a wooden spoon. The fruit—she wasn’t sure of the name—resembled a pineapple, down to the spiky exterior. When frozen, it had a smooth, custard-like texture. It was perfect on a hot day.

Miriam shoveled in a few bites until she got the inevitable brain freeze. She hissed, flapping a hand at her face like that would help.

Perrigaul ignored her distress, continuing to happily eat his order with a smirk, if you could imagine a lizard smirking. That insurance-shilling lizard? Yeah, that, but patronizing and vexed.

“I’m not a total chump,” she announced. “I know the map’s a fake.”

“Oh, good! Then you knowingly wasted my hard-earned credits on fool’s gold.”

Miriam set down her fruit ice and pulled the journal out of the bag. “The map’s a fake. Obviously. But look at the details in the book.” She flipped it open to a random page and shoved the entire book in Perrigaul’s face. “There’s writing on every page, and it’s not nonsense. The journal is legit or a damn good fanfic, and I want to read it.”

“Fanfic,” he grumbled, taking the book. He thumbed through the pages, pausing at the odd illustration. “My translator does not know this word.”

“A fictional story written by a fan. You know, you love a movie so much you don’t want the story to end, so you create new scenarios for the characters.” She nearly confessed her to a cringey fanfic that she wrote as a teenager, but stopped herself. No one needed to know how she obsessed over the trials and tribulations of perpetual teen vampires.

No one.

She cleared her throat. “Some people are into that, I hear.”

He harrumphed. He frowned. General grumbling and vexation. Such sweet, familiar territory. “No one on this planet would waste their time writing anything other than a very detailed death threat or plot.”

“Grim, but yeah. That’s my point. No one is putting that much detail into a fake. Therefore, real.” She took the book back, rubbed at the sticky thumbprint he left on the cover, and returned it to her bag. “Aren’t you going to ask where I learned to do that?”

“You do not have to explain your need to defend yourself,” he said simply, that odd note of approval back.

Weird.

CHAPTER 3

MIRIAM

“APPARENTLY, YOU’RE A BADASS.” Alice dropped onto the sofa next to Miriam.

The sun had slipped below the horizon, finally breaking the heat. A gentle breeze stirred, swaying the lantern that hung from a canopy. It was a nice change from the ship’s interior, and the view couldn’t be beat. Tall grass spread in all directions, whispering in the wind. In the distance, the lights from the settlement pricked the darkness, even as the sky still glowed pink and orange with the last of the light.

When Alice announced her pregnancy, Faris decided that they always needed to be near a doctor. He found a settlement large enough to have a doctor that could treat humans and far enough away from the larger towns to avoid trouble, as far as Miriam understood. No one ran the plan by her. One day, the ship landed in the middle of nowhere, and it hadn’t left the ground in months.

Faris and Perrigaul set up the canopy and a simple patio because Alice said there was no point in living on the ground if they weren’t going to use the ground. It all felt a touch Little Spaceship on the Prairie to Miriam, but again, no one ran the plan by her. She was Alice’s plus-one and didn’t want to rock the boat.

“I’m not a badass,” Miriam said. She closed the journal, holding it in her lap.

“Agree to disagree. Where’d you learn to do that?”

“The gym,” Miriam said. Alice gave her a look that flatly said she didn’t believe her. “I offered to get you a friend pass to my gym.”

Alice wrinkled her nose. “You said gym. I was thinking of treadmills, not ninja training camp.”

“I’m not a ninja.”

“You knocked Perri flat on his ass, which he probably deserved,” Alice said.

Miriam recalled Perrigaul’s mocking grin then the surprised gasp when she used his momentum against him. “My temper got the better of me.”

Alice snickered.

Miriam’s eyes dipped down to the book in her lap.

“Oh, you’re serious,” Alice said.

“I shouldn’t have done that. I acted out of anger.”

“Did you try to use your words, but he didn’t listen?” Alice asked in a teasing tone.

“Please don’t tease me,” Miriam said. She felt wretched enough; she didn’t need to add worries that Alice thought she was a bully.

Alice shifted on the sofa, turning to face Miriam. She tucked one leg under herself and rested a hand on her belly. Slightly round, her pregnancy was just starting to show. “I’m sorry if I sound that way. It’s not my intention to tease you. Perri is a good guy, but he’s stubborn and his default setting is distrust. I think it’s something this place does to people. If you don’t look or act like you can beat the snot out of someone, then you look vulnerable. Sometimes you gotta throw your arms out and roar to convince the bear that you’re not worth messing with.”

That was… well, that was a messy allegory to pick through.

“When did you get into karate?” Alice asked.

“Krav Maga, actually. I started in college. I was sick as a kid, but my parents wouldn’t let me do anything, even when I was better. The first thing I did when I got to school was sign up for a class.” She shrugged, resisting the urge to gush about her childhood crush on a certain Power Ranger. “It’s a good way to deal with stress.”

“Huh. Not what I expected.”

Miriam heard that plenty. She gave off crunchy granola vibes, which was fair. She tried to eat organic, locally sourced food. She avoided caustic chemical detergents. If she had the space for a garden back home, she’d totally compost and probably raise backyard chickens. She meditated every morning before work. On the weekends, she hiked to be one with nature. Twice a week, she went to the gym to punch and kick people bigger than her. So what? She could do that and recycle.

“I can do my part to protect the Earth and punch people. I can be more than one thing,” Miriam said.

Alice laughed. “Oh, absolutely. I’m only sorry I missed it. Do you think you can do it again?”

“I had surprise on my side. He wasn’t expecting me to flip him over my back,” Miriam said. Doing that maneuver again without Perrigaul’s cooperation would be difficult.

“A dramatic reenactment. Do it—amuse me.” Alice clapped her hands together and spoke in a regal tone, like a queen giving a command.

Miriam fidgeted, running a fingernail under her other nails. “I shouldn’t. I don’t want to make him mad.”

“Mad? He’s besotted.”

Miriam’s head jerked up. “What? Perrigaul can’t stand me.”

“That’s his default. He doesn’t like anyone,” Alice said in a tone that almost sounded like she thought it was amusing how much of a dick Perrigaul could be.

Alice just didn’t get it. Miriam’s place in their home was tenuous. She lived off the generosity of others. Faris would do anything for Alice, even rescuing another woman and housing her indefinitely. Faris grumbled and mostly avoided her, but he’d tolerate her to keep Alice happy. Perrigaul, though. He actively disliked her. Sneered at her. Made little jabs about spending his money, eating his food, and generally being a waste of space.

She hadn’t noticed it at first, too sick from the stasis pod and being overwhelmed with the whole alien abduction; safe from all that, she worried. Perrigaul’s little jokes weren’t jokes; they were mean spirited insults.

She wanted to knock him on his ass again, and this time she’d rip the ridiculous gold earrings out of his ears. She wasn’t a violent person, but there were too many emotions swirling around inside her, all screaming for attention. They needed out and the solution was either to cry or punch a smug lizard in the face.

Slowly, Miriam relaxed her hands, unclenching them.

“You belong here. This is your home,” she said, keeping her voice steady. As homesick as she felt, there was no use in crying. “I’m the extra baggage. I can’t afford to wear out my welcome.”

“Oh,” Alice breathed, her eyes watering. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying,” Miriam said, even as tears rolled down her face.

Alice pulled her into a hug. It was fierce, bone-crushing, and absolutely perfect. “This is your home, as long as you want it to be. Never doubt that. I’ll have Faris kick Perri’s ass for making you doubt that.”

“I’m not a violent person,” Miriam protested. Really, she wasn’t.

“Don’t worry. I am.”

PERRIGAUL

The female set out just as the first sun rose. She slipped out of the ship and past the security perimeter without setting off a single alarm.

That was disturbing. Was his security system so easily circumnavigated, or had she observed him imputing the codes? He had grown sloppy, he decided, and needed to update the codes. He only heard her leaving because he could not sleep. His mind kept replaying the way she flipped him onto his back and straddled his chest, demanding his surrender.

She headed north. The morning sun caught strands of her hair, picking out golden highlights. He remembered her hair had worked free of its binding, falling forward and brushing his face. Her scent was an intriguing mix of heat and a soft floral fragrance from her soap.

Everything kept coming back to that moment. It was like he had not truly noticed her until she made herself unforgettable.

Perrigaul scrubbed a hand over his nostrils. He had been unable to rid himself of her scent and could detect it still, carried on the breeze.

“Stop following me!” Miriam shouted, turning around to face him.

“I am not!” Perrigaul’s tail lashed from side to side.

A great distance separated them, requiring that they shout to converse. Perrigaul had been following, but he intended to be subtle. Obviously, he failed.

“Really? You’re just out for a morning stroll?” Despite the distance separating them, he knew Miriam rolled her eyes. He could tell.

“The same as you,” he replied.

“I seriously doubt that.”

“How did you bypass my security measures?” he asked, genuinely curious.

“Am I a prisoner? I'm not allowed outside?”

“You are not a prisoner, and you know this. You are deflecting. Answer the question.”

“You first.” She folded her arms. Their conversation was over.

How frustrating.

Perrigaul ran a hand over his quills, checking that the knots that held his quills at the back of his head were still in place. The top ones never laid flat, and a few of the longer, finer quills always worked their way free.

“It is dangerous to go alone,” he said, approaching her slowly like a wild creature.

“I appreciate that, but I need some alone time. Don’t you ever get sick of babysitting me? Anyway, it’s just a walk. I thought I’d check out the watchtower.” She pointed to the watchtower in the distance.

Once part of a network of monitoring stations, the tower was now abandoned. Perrigaul knew it well. Anything useful had been scavenged long ago. If a former inmate did not currently use it as shelter, it was a shelter for animals.

“You misunderstand me. It is dangerous to go alone. Take this.” He held out a weapon.

MIRIAM

Perrigaul held out a small silver tube, like a metal straw. “It expands into a staff. Just squeeze the middle,” he explained while demonstrating.

The silver tube expanded into a full-sized staff in the blink of an eye. He squeezed again, and the staff collapsed.

“Take it,” he said.

“Are you flirting with me?” she asked, half-teasing, half-serious.

“No. That is a child’s staff. If I were flirting, I’d give you a pistol,” he replied. His tone was so dry that it erased any possibility that he was flirting, and she blushed with embarrassment because she kind of hoped he had been flirting.

“Oh, umm, thanks.” She busied herself trying to figure out how to work the staff. She squeezed in the middle but didn't have the hand strength to trigger the mechanism.

“Like this.” Perrigaul adjusted her grip. “Try it now.”

The staff expanded with a click. Miriam gasped and laughed in delight. She gave it a test swing. The staff was not too heavy and felt solid enough that a hit could keep a critter at bay. She wouldn’t want to try it against a bear, or whatever was the bear equivalent here, but it’d do.

“This is awesome. It’s so light.” She swung and lunged forward.

“It is designed for a child. It is strong enough to hurt, but it will break if you use too much force.”

“Good to know.” Then, “Why do you have a child-sized staff?”

He ran a hand over his quills. “It was mine.”

Miriam stopped swinging the staff around like a toy. “Really?”

“I would not fabricate such a story,” he said, sounding defensive. His quills went flat against his skull.

“Okay, relax, I believe you. I was surprised.” The staff was clearly important to him and giving it to her was… Well, she wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but it was something.

With a click, the staff collapsed, and she put it in her pocket. She said, “Human children have toys, not weapons. Toy weapons, sure. I had a toy gun that shot these foam darts. I loved that thing.”

Her babbling seemed to mollify him. His quills relaxed. “That is a waste. You cannot disable an opponent with foam darts,” he said.

“Oh, look, the judgmental lizard is here. Hey, everyone,” she looked around at a nonexistent crowd. “Good news. Perrigaul’s here to tell us how our childhood toys were a waste of time.” Then, for good measure, she said in a flat voice, “Yay.”

“You do not need to mock me.”

“Need to? No. Want to? Very much, yes.”

He huffed, his tail moving from side to side. He scanned the horizon. “Why do you want to go to the tower?”

She shrugged. “I needed a walk. That seemed as good a place as any.”

“Very well.” He strode ahead. “The second sun will rise shortly, and it will be too warm for you.”

Miriam swallowed a protest. Yes, the weather would be too warm for her—that was why she set out so early.

“I wasn’t sneaking out,” she said, following Perrigaul. “And slow down. My legs aren’t as long as yours.”

“Then why did you not inform anyone of your intention to take a walk or your destination?”

“Wow. You have a real way of making me sound shady,” she said. He paused long enough for her to reach his side, then she continued, “For the record, I couldn’t sleep. A walk sounded good, and I didn’t want to wake anyone. Alice needs her rest.”

“You could have woken me.”

“And interrupt your beauty sleep? That sounds like a trap.”

“I do not mind.” He ran a hand over his quills and looked away. She could have sworn that his cheeks got darker. “You were not the only one having trouble sleeping.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks. And thanks for the staff.” The weight of it in her pocket reassured her.

“It is not a bother.” His tone said it absolutely was a bother, but he followed her and gave her a weapon to defend herself, rather than lecture her about the dangers of the wilderness before dragging her back to the ship. He could be alright, sometimes, when he wasn't being judgmental and grumpy.

She glanced at him from the side, trying to be subtle.

At least he was nice to look at.

The tower loomed large as they approached. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far away. Miriam had difficulty judging distance on the prairie. The openness of the sky and the environment made everything seem near, even if it was miles and miles away. She was a city girl. Without a grid system for streets or buildings on either side of her, how did she know where she was? There was nothing to use as a landmark, just tall grass, more grass, and some different grass in the distance.

A rusting chain-link fence, falling in places, surrounded the tower. Huh. Some things really were universal.

Perrigaul placed his hands on his hips, his tail swaying behind him. “We reached your destination. Let us return.”

“What? No. We just got here. I didn’t come all this way just to turn around and not climb the tower.” Miriam took a bottle of water from her satchel. She might have impulsively decided to take a hike, but she was an experienced hiker. She took a drink and offered the bottle to Perrigaul. “I know, gross, but I only brought one water bottle.”

“I have my own,” he said.

“Cool. Do you think those stairs are safe?”

He made his grumbly thinking noise. “Does it matter? You will do what you want.”

Was she acting like a brat? Maybe a little. She certainly didn’t like to be told what to do.

She nudged her foot against his. “Hey, if you say it's not safe, then we can go back.”

His quills went up and down. “I cannot tell from this distance. Watch your footing,” he said, stepping over the fallen fence.

Up close, the tower was a metal tin can on stilts constructed from the cheapest possible materials. Made sense that the prison authorities weren’t concerned about aesthetics. They ran the planet to turn a profit, not to beautify the landscape with intriguing works of modern architecture.

A metal staircase ran alongside the tower to the observation deck at the top. Perrigaul tested the bottom step. It held. “Stay close to the wall, not the railings. The stairs will be more secure there.”

By the time they reached the top, the second sun had risen. The wind stirred the already warm air. Her hair escaped from her ponytail, lashing against her face.

Below, the prairie stretched out in a rolling green and gold plain. To the west, the mountains were a violet smudge against the horizon. To the east, she could see the sunlight reflect off the solar panels of the nearby settlement. Of course, she spotted their ship and home with ease.

With a delighted smile, she said, “I can see my house from here.”

Perrigaul didn’t laugh at her joke. Fine. It wasn't even that good a joke.

She leaned against the railing, taking in the view. This place could be beautiful.

Metal groaned. With no other warning, the railing collapsed. Miriam felt herself pitch forward. All she could see was the ground below her, so far away and way too close, and she couldn’t stop herself from falling.

A strong hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back from the edge.

Perrigaul had her in a tight embrace. They stood like that for what had to be seconds but felt like minutes. She felt his chest rise and fall. Her own heart beat frantically. She closed her eyes, but all she could see was the image of the ground below her as she hung in the air.

Eventually, he pulled away. She tensed, waiting for a lecture.

Instead, he asked in a thick voice, “Are you well?”

“Just shaken.” She pressed a hand over her racing heart.

Perrigaul frowned, pushing her hand out of the way and replacing it with his own. The frowning intensified.

“Your heart is beating quickly,” he said, not removing his hand. It was so warm, like a brand leaving its mark on her.

She cleared her throat, and, reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. She said, “I just had a scare. Let me sit for a minute.”

“You are in cardiac distress—”

“I’m fine.” She fished her bottle of water out and took another long drink. “There’s nothing wrong with my heart.”

Perrigaul sat next to her. Again, she tensed, waiting for the lecture. Instead, he remained silent.

The wind rippled across the grass, rolling like waves on the ocean. This was… nice? Yeah, nice. Perrigaul was a classic grump, fussing and complaining, but he had her back when it mattered. They probably should talk about yesterday. That would be the mature, adult thing to do, but Miriam didn’t feel the urge. Something had shifted between them and felt like the beginning of a friendship.

Or more.

CHAPTER 4

PERRIGAUL

“WE HAVE A PROBLEM,” FARIS SAID.

“We have a problem, or do you have a problem that you insist on sharing?” Perrigaul half-crawled into a service conduit, his tail hanging out for all to see. He removed the covering of the cooling unit. Dust clogged the filters, causing a decrease in the unit’s efficiency. Removing the filters to shake out the dust once a week kept them running at acceptable levels.

Perrigaul also discovered that his life was more peaceful if he proactively cleaned the filters rather than wait for Alice to complain. The cooling unit was not meant to run indefinitely in an atmosphere. It was designed for the void of space, but there was little he could do about that.

“Why am I receiving offers to purchase the female who fights?” Faris held a tablet in one hand, presumably with the purchase offers.

“Ah, that kind of problem.” Perrigaul dropped out of the service conduit, landing on his feet. He shook the dust out of his quills.

Faris glared at him. His tail jerked from side to side in an agitated manner. “What did you do?”

“I did nothing. It was Miriam.”

“Miriam. That tiny human. She is only this tall.” Faris held up a hand to the middle of his chest to demonstrate.

“Yes, tiny compared to you, when you had a childhood of regular nutrition and years of military training. You are larger than most people. We are all tiny in comparison,” Perrigaul said.

Faris was unmoved. “Tiny, with little, tiny human hands. No claws. No talons on her ankles. Defenseless.”

“She does not fight fair. She cheats.”

Perrigaul expected Faris to laugh at the preposterous image of tiny, clawless Miriam besting him in a fight. Or at least laugh at Perrigaul’s bruised pride.

Instead, Faris’s frown intensified. “Fix this,” he ordered. “I will not have males who think they can buy people sniffing around my mate.”

“No one is foolish enough to try and purchase your mate.” No one would dare.

“Fix this. I do not care how.” Faris shoved the tablet against Perrigaul’s chest.

He flicked through the messages that had arrived in the last few days. They were… eye-opening. “We drew attention, but no more than the usual crowd at the market. Is this amount real? It cannot be. There must be a decimal error.”

“It is real.”

Interesting.

Perrigaul tilted his head, scanning through the offers. Desperate males bid every last credit they had a claim to, and made promises of more. “Why so much?” he wondered. “Miriam is a human female, which is valuable, but surely she is not that unique a specimen. This is not in keeping with the market.”

Faris snatched the tablet away, growling. “The supply of human females has slowed. All the pods have been discovered. Desperate males will do anything for a female of their own, including promising fortunes they do not have.”

“And I brought their attention to Alice,” Perrigaul said, understanding Faris’s anger. A male who would buy a female would just as easily steal a mated female, especially one proven to be fertile. He scrubbed a hand over his face, the rough edges of his scales catching on his chin. “She wanted a strong drink in a bar. I should have let her.”

Instead, he forced her to make a spectacle of herself, and over what? Because he did not approve of a frivolous purchase? A book and an obviously fake map?

“I am a colossal fool,” Perrigaul said.

“Fix. This.”

“Yes, yes. Growl, growl, fix this, growl. I’ll think of something.”

Simply packing up the ship and waiting it out at an isolated location was out of the question. Takeoff and landing made Alice sick, which drove Faris out of his scaly mind. The big red bastard insisted that they be near medical care at all times, so leaving wasn’t an option.

Well, Faris and Alice leaving wasn’t an option…

MIRIAM

“Good news! We’re going on an adventure.” Perrigaul grabbed the top of the doorframe and stretched, his arms overhead and his shirt riding up. The scales on his stomach were more mauve than scarlet.

If he noticed her checking out his abs, he didn’t mention it. Instead, he tossed himself down on her bunk, threw one arm over her shoulder, and gestured broadly with the other hand. “The sights we’ll see! The wondrous new experiences!”

Miriam pushed his arm off. “What is wrong with you?”

“I thought you would be excited. I demand excitement. This is exciting.” His tail thumped against the thin mattress.

Her bed wasn’t big enough for two, not that she had thought about the logistics. It was common sense. Her cabin wasn’t big enough for two. She suspected it had been converted from a storage closet.

“Stop saying excited, and why?” Miriam asked.

“Why? Why?” He grabbed the journal from her hands and pulled out the fake map. “This is why! We’re going treasure hunting.”

“Don’t just grab it with your filthy meat paws,” Miriam said, taking the journal back. “Did you even wash your hands?”

“How else should I touch a book if I can’t use my hands? I cleaned them yesterday.” He held up a hand to demonstrate its cleanliness.

She made a strangled, disparaging noise, like joy and hope fleeing a librarian's body. She knew he teased her, but still.

He grinned, a little toothy and a lot menacing.

Trouble. He was nothing but trouble, and the fact that he wasn’t hard on the eyes had completely escaped her attention until she straddled him that afternoon. Now they were on her bunk in her cabin. Alone. Sitting close.

Miriam scooted back as far as possible, until her back hit the wall. “What do you mean treasure hunting?”

“The map is obviously fake—”

“Yes, you keep saying.”

“But Mer’len was real and his Sunken Palace was real.”

Miriam’s entire body perked at the words Sunken Palace.

“No doubt it has been looted many times, but it could be worthwhile to investigate.” Perrigaul delivered this with a winning grin and set off all Miriam’s alarm bells.

“This is a wild goose chase and you know it. What’s wrong? What’s really happening?”

He sighed, his quills flexing. “Our tussle in the settlement has drawn unwanted attention.”

“So we need to leave town until the heat dies down?” She nearly bounced as she spoke.

Perrigaul gave her the side-eye, which was weird because he had lizard eyes that didn’t exactly move the way she expected. “Faris suggested we make ourselves scarce because he will not choose between protecting his mate or my worthless scales.”

Meaning Faris would pick Alice every time.

“I mean, I see. That sounds serious and not at all exciting. I suppose if we have to, for the good of our family, I accept your quest,” she said and spread the map out on the mattress between them.

Mer’len’s Sunken Palace.

CHAPTER 5

MIRIAM

A GRAND ADVENTURE THIS WAS NOT.

The day started early, but Perrigaul did not seem terribly motivated to do anything. Miriam packed lightly, as per his instructions, and was up at dawn with a steaming cup of coffee and ready to adventure.

Perrigaul slept in.

When he did eventually decide to get the show on the road, they immediately stopped at the market in town to pick up supplies, in theory. As far as Miriam could tell, the point of their shopping expedition was to be seen leaving town.

At the apothecary— really it was a cramped one-room shack filled with dried herbs—she picked up a bottle to read the label.

“Do not touch that. You will break it,” Perrigaul snapped.

“I’ll be careful.” Miriam held the bottle up to the light to read the faded label.

“You are a hatchling, always touching and never listening.”

Miriam returned the bottle to the shelf, not impressed with his tone.

Finally, finally, they were off. The hovercycle wasn’t her first choice for transportation, but choices were limited. At least they had an excuse not to make conversation. The wind would make talking impossible, and the less Perrigaul spoke, the better.

On the other hand, she didn’t mind clinging to Perrigaul on the back of his hovercycle or the bugs in her teeth when she dared to peek over his shoulder. He had a nice, sturdy, and comfortable feel. The goggles kept dirt out of her eyes, and a scarf mostly protected her face. Holding onto Perrigaul wasn’t such a hardship, and again, the less talking, the better.

By noon, they made it to the largest city on the planet, the Hub. Traffic was heavy and disorganized. The outskirts were a sprawling mishmash of derelict ships converted into buildings, shipping containers stacked way too high for safety, also converted into buildings, and a general lack of safety regulations. It was loud and chaotic, but Miriam found it fascinating.

“So there’s like no zoning or regulations here, huh?” Miriam shouted her question to be heard over the surrounding traffic. They hadn’t moved for a good two minutes, instead idling while whatever snarl worked itself out.

“No. All this was built after the prison had been abandoned,” he shouted back.

The hovercycle worked its way through vehicles, sliding into tight spaces it had no right being in. They passed open air-markets, a riot of colors and delicious aromas. Vendors carried their wares into the snarl of vehicles.

And the people…

Miriam had no idea there were so many kinds of people on Reazus Prime. Tails, scales, wings both dragon-like and delicate insect-like, four arms, assorted number of legs, three eyes, skin that shimmered in the sun like jewels, and skin in every color like a living rainbow. She spotted devil horns, curled ram-like horns, and even a guy sporting a set of antlers. It was fascinating.

“Stop staring. You act like a tourist,” Perrigaul said, again with a foul attitude.

“What? I’m just looking.” Miriam snapped her head forward and tightened her arms around Perrigaul. Maybe she was staring a little.

“Yes, you are looking. Do not.”

“I’m allowed to look.”

“You are making yourself a target.”

“You are no fun at all.” A loud burst of horns and shouts covered her grumble.

The hovercycle weaved its way through snarled traffic. As they traveled deeper into the city, the roads became orderly. Buildings looked more like the traditional idea of a dwelling and not just something cobbled together from scrap. The old section had a severe, almost cold feel after the vibrant chaos of the post-prison growth.

They arrived at a sprawling transportation center more concerned with efficiently and cheaply shipping cargo than the comfort of passengers. At least that was the vibe the poured concrete and exposed steel beams gave Miriam. Perrigaul purchased tickets and negotiated getting his hovercycle loaded.

The ceiling was interesting. It was a translucent material that filtered in light. Embedded blue channels in the vaulted ceiling glowed slightly, like a circuit board. She wondered if those were solar panels or connected to a solar generator. The channels spread across the ceiling like the roots of a digital tree, evenly spaced and nearly symmetrical. It was pretty, in a brutal way.

A hand grabbed her arm, startling her. “Stop being a tourist,” Perrigaul hissed.

“I’m allowed to look.” Miriam jerked her arm away, rubbing where he grabbed her.

“You are not allowed to look like you’ve never seen a train station before. You will draw unwanted attention.”

Miriam bit back the reply that she could handle herself. It’s not like she thought she was some sort of badass. Instead, she clutched the strap of her backpack. “Fine. Can we board the train now?”

On the train, Perrigaul’s attitude continued to sour. Maybe he’d always been a dickhead and she was finally tired of ignoring his dickheadedness.

They had seats in a mostly empty compartment. Calling the spot on a wooden bench a seat was generous, but Miriam didn’t complain. You had to be flexible when traveling. It was part of the adventure.

The train left the station, sluggishly rolling past more industrial buildings. The cityscape thinned, and the train picked up speed. The engines were quiet, and the floor barely vibrated. This didn’t feel like any train she had ever been on.

Miriam watched the scenery until it grew monotonous, and then she watched the passengers. She recognized some alien species and spotted a few new ones. The guy who looked like a fire imp was interesting.

The carriage wasn’t crowded, but she got the impression this wasn’t first or even second class. People kept their eyes forward and their hands to themselves. Voices were quiet, keeping the conversations to themselves. Overall, it was a subdued atmosphere.

She shifted, uncomfortable on the hard bench. She just didn’t have the natural padding to sit for hours on end.

Perrigaul leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Stop it.”

Okay, enough was enough. “What is your deal?”

“Your gawking is drawing attention.” His voice was low and sharp.

“I’m not allowed to look? It’s called situational awareness.”

“Gawking.”

“Should I just tie a blindfold over my eyes? Put a bag over my head? I really don’t know what you expect from me.”

“I expect you to stay quiet and not cause a scene.”

“I’m not the one causing a scene!” She took a breath, realizing her voice carried. “You’re causing the scene. Nothing is good enough for you. Are you hungry? Is that it? Have a sandwich.” She grabbed a sandwich from her bag. It was a little smashed but still good. “Take it.”

“I am not hungry,” he said, but took the sandwich.

“Eat and stop being so dramatic.” She unwrapped her sandwich. Low blood sugar might explain why he was working her nerves right now.

“I am not being dramatic. I am upset that we are wasting our time on this foolish errand because you cannot follow simple instructions.”

“This is my fault?” Suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Yes, because you drew unwanted attention to yourself at the settlement.”

“I wanted a drink.”

“That establishment was not safe,” he said, his voice growing heated.

“Well, maybe if you told me that instead of treating me like a child, I would have understood.”

“I treat you like a child because you are acting like a child. A spoiled hatchling who will not listen and insists on touching thorny plants.”

Miriam clenched her jaw to stop herself from swearing. He was provoking her to prove a point. She should remind Mr. Attitude with a Cute Tail how she knocked him on his cute tail, but that would be making a scene and that sort of trick only worked once.

Besides, she wouldn’t be acting in defense. She’d be acting in aggression and that wasn’t the type of person she wanted to be. The moral reasons she shouldn’t throw down came worryingly slow, but she’d examine that later. Right now, she needed space.

“I’m a child, huh? Well, I guess I’m throwing a tantrum now.” She grabbed her bag and stood.

Perrigaul grabbed her wrist, but she shook him off. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting a drink, unless that’s not allowed.” They passed a dining car, or at least a carriage that had a bar.

Back home, when she felt like this, like everyone ignored her or treated her like she was too delicate for the world, she went for a walk or a run. There was a nature preserve with a trail along a creek not too far from her apartment. In the spring, the trail burst with life and birdsong. In the summer, a green canopy kept her cool. Autumn was a gorgeous splash of colors. Winter runs were silent and peaceful.

Since she couldn’t go for a run along the creek, she walked the train. She could feel people watching her, but no one bothered her. The train was safe, right? Perrigaul would have followed her if it were dangerous. Probably.

No, she decided, he would. He might be sulky and grumpy from not eating, but he wouldn’t let her leave alone if the train were unsafe. He might be a dickhead, but he wasn’t a complete asshole.

Miriam parked herself at the bar in the dining car. She waved her hand over a scanner and opened a bar tab. The machine beeped and a holographic menu hovered over the screen.

Ha. She might be sheltered, but she could figure it out. A few moments later, the bartender set a brown bottle down in front of her, sweat beading on the glass. Carbonation gently fizzed as she took a sip of the syrupy sweet drink. It was so strangely familiar, so like an ordinary soda, that she felt homesick for a moment.

Then her anger came roaring back. Where did Perrigaul get off calling her a child? She was an adult. She paid rent, bills, and kept her checkbook balanced. Even her fridge was clean. She had this adulting thing down. So what if her memory had been fuzzy when Alice pulled her out of the stasis pod? She’d been in there for three years, and anyone would be messed up from that. The drugs used by the alien who abducted her weren’t exactly organic and certified safe for humans. Anyway, the fuzziness cleared up after a few weeks.

She didn’t need or want Perrigaul’s attitude. It wasn’t just today, though. It was every interaction, like she got abducted on purpose, just to screw with him.

She cracked open the journal, randomly flipping through the pages until she found a series of numbers written in the margins. A security code? Bank routing number? She backed up a few pages and read the entry. It wasn’t a diary or a book of secret plans so much as a log of the visitors to his compound—his word, not hers—how much he spent entertaining, and potential blackmail material. This guy was a real piece of work. He lured his victims in to show off his latest trinket, pumped them full of booze or drugs, likely both, and recorded their naughty deeds.

The overly sweet soda vanished faster than she wanted, wishing it were something stronger, although considering her reading material, she should avoid booze.

“You know, we are free to express ourselves here. You can wear your antlers without repercussions,” a smooth voice said next to her.

A well-dressed gargoyle joined her at the bar. His deep stone-gray complexion glistened under the lights. He had a crown of short horns at the top of his head, to which the tousled dark hair gave a regal air, and leathery gray wings folded behind his shoulders. Miriam recognized his species as Khargal, the same as the merchant who sold her the journal.

Just over his shoulder, remaining a discreet distance away, stood two massive slabs of muscle with the heads of boar, radiating menace. Like, they had snouts and fur and beady little black eyes, not that they were carrying around a decapitated boar’s head. Obviously, they were the brawn.

And this guy with the wings had money. It oozed off him. Okay, oozed was a bit judgmental. The gargoyle guy had the polish of a person who could spend lots of money on the best. The best clothes. The best barber. He probably had a valet who helped him get dressed in the morning and kept his clothes neatly pressed and lint-free.

“Pardon me?” Miriam asked, suddenly aware that the dining car had emptied, leaving only her, the antler man, and the muscle.

“So polite.” He tilted his head to one side. “You’re not reilendeer, are you? I heard humans looked like them, but I didn’t believe it. I’m Ari. Let me buy you a drink.”

Ari spoke quickly, with the confidence of a man who was used to getting his way. He didn’t give her a chance to decline before motioning to the bartender and ordering two of something that sounded expensive.

“No thank you,” Miriam said. “I’m not in the mood for company.”

“Ah. It is a male.” Casually, he leaned against the bar on one elbow. “Tell me his name and he will trouble you no more.”

Miriam nearly laughed. Was this guy for real? “No, thank you,” she repeated.

“It is no trouble.”

“I suspect I wouldn’t like the price you’d want me to pay.”

His eyes gleamed. “A debt to be called on later is a common currency.”

Yeah, she wanted no part in whatever debt this guy considered fair.

“It’s fine. He’ll get over himself,” she said, draining the last of her too-sweet soda. She should give this guy the cold shoulder and stop talking, but she couldn’t help herself. Other than a few words at the market, she hadn’t talked to someone who wasn’t Alice, Faris, or, heaven help her, Perrigaul since she woke. Not a real conversation.

Ari took the book, flipping through the pages. “What is it you read?”

“Oh, a journal. It’s probably fake, but—”

He pulled out the map, which had been neatly folded and tucked into the back of the book. In his hands, it looked as fake as a prop on a bad TV show. “You are a treasure hunter.”

“I am a librarian,” she said, taking the book back.

“Mer’len’s Sunken Palace has been picked clean. His treasures are long gone.”

She bristled at the tone, like an adult humoring a child. She wanted to tell him she had been pulled out of a debris field everyone said was picked clean. Treasures were all around if you took the time to look. Instead, she changed the topic. “So what’d you do to get sent here? Do people ask that, or is it rude?”

Ari blinked, so it must have been a rude question, and then he laughed. It had a sinister, too-brittle sound to it.

The bartender arrived with two shot glasses filled with a bright green liquid. Miriam eyed the drinks, admiring the intense color.

“I am not a criminal,” he said. “I find Reazus Prime has the most opportunity for a male who is not afraid of risks.”

Yeah, that meant he just hadn’t been caught yet.

“Oh, that’s probably worse than being a murderer or a thief.” What was she doing? She needed to stop being rude to degenerates who saw an outlaw planet and thought that was a good business decision. Was this a lingering side effect of the stasis chemicals?

“Or a treasure hunter.” His smile was too polished and too smooth. It unnerved her.

She laughed because he expected her to laugh and the boar-headed slabs of muscle were giving her the eye.

“On Duras, yes,” Ari said, his tone serious again. “My people have a very rigid sense of morality. If you disagree, you are forced into the stone sleep. I prefer to be… flexible.”

Miriam shivered at his tone, like icy fingers walked up her spine.

Ari watched her, his gaze uncomfortably intense. His face might have looked human if not for the gray complexion, but there was nothing human in his cold eyes. This man was a predator, pure and simple. For the last few months, she had lived with a convicted murderer. Faris and Perrigaul were nowhere near the right side of the law, morality, or any other ethical measure, yet she never considered them to be bad people. This guy, though, was bad news.

She regretted storming off in a temper. She should have stayed with Perrigaul, even if he was being a dickhead.

Air pushed a glass toward her and held his glass aloft for a toast. “To my new friend!”

Miriam didn’t particularly want a drink, but she couldn’t see a way to decline graciously. She repeated his words and raised the glass to his lips.

A hand on her wrist prevented her from drinking.

PERRIGAUL

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What are you doing?” he demanded at the same time.

This female. Had she no sense at all? Here she was, about to ingest a clearly poisoned drink with an unknown male and two bodyguards. Widians, no less, who were notorious for their brutality. The lack of tusks marked one Widian as a female, known for inflicting greater savagery than a male.

Perrigaul’s gaze dropped to her hands. Gloves covered talons. Widian females did not need tusks to gut their opponents. Wait…

His eyes darted back up to the ring piercing on the female’s bottom lip. Luxanya? Surely it was not such a small universe. The last time he had dealings with the female, he had cheated her at cards for an exorbitant sum, which he used to purchase his hovercycle.

Perhaps she would not recognize him. He did not look the same, having gone through a fever and shedding his old scales.

Luxanya reached for the blaster at her hip. “You,” she growled.

Yes, she recognized him.

Well, rotza.

What had Miriam stumbled into?

“Let go of me,” Miriam said, tugging to break his hold.

“I will not,” he growled.

“I think you should,” the Khargal male said, and he had the audacity to smirk.

Perrigaul’s quills flexed as he considered the male. Confidence, the kind backed by credits, radiated from him, and nothing offended Perrigaul more than a male who bought his place in the world.

He never had much patience for Khargals. Their planet had not sent prisoners to Reazus Prime. Khargals had their own system of justice that involved putting the prisoner into their stone form for a century or more, conscious but frozen in place.

Barbaric practice. The hard labor of Reazus Prime had been brutal, but it was not torture.

Since no Khargal had been sent as prisoners to Reazus Prime, every Khargal here now was a tourist.

“This female is nothing but trouble, but she is mine,” Perrigaul said, his tone full of contempt.

Miriam tried to pull away, but he held her fast. “I’m not—”

“Not trouble?” he asked, speaking over her to deliberately vex her. “The lengths I go to appease you, female. The credits I have spent on your happiness. I leave you alone for a moment and what do you do? Drinks with another male.”

She huffs. “I didn’t think you were the jealous sort.”

He hadn’t thought that about himself, either, but there was no denying the truth in his words. Well, he’d contemplate that uncomfortable personal truth when their tails weren’t in jeopardy. He said, “Of this male? I thought you had better sense. He is the sort to promise you anything and deliver nothing.”

“You do not have to stay with this male,” the Khargal said in a smooth tone. “If you owe him a debt, I will pay. It would be my pleasure to help.”

“She needs your help like I need scale rot,” Perrigaul snapped, his glare bouncing from the Khargal to Miriam.

He winked.

Color rose in Miriam’s cheeks, a pink bloom across her skin. She was rather attractive when riled.

Hopefully the wink would be enough for her to understand. The fight-among-yourselves strategy was a favorite with Faris—it’d gotten them out of several tight spots—but Miriam might not catch his signal.

“Maybe I am interested,” she said, her tone turning sharp with sincere sounding frustration. “Why would I stick with you when you begrudge me every little thing and complain the entire time?”

She had a point. Another thing to examine later.

“You do not listen,” he said. “Why must you always fight me?”

Her eyes narrowed, then they went wide. He hoped that meant she understood. He could not tell. Human eyes were so odd.

“Maybe I wouldn’t fight you if you weren’t such a massive dickhead,” she said, clearly not understanding.

“My head size is average. I do not wish to brag but, yes, my dick is worth mentioning. Now do not make me regret rescuing you from a pile of space trash. It would be no trouble to put you back where I found you.”

She gave a frustrated howl and stomped on his foot. He dropped his hold on her wrist. She threw the drink at the Khargal male, hitting him in the face with the tumbler.

Perrigaul’s tail twitched with pride. She had understood. Excellent.

Now for the trouble at hand.

The Widians drew their blasters and fired. The Khargal extended his wings, blocking the shots. “Do not fire,” he ordered.

Clearly, they did not listen as the shots continued.

Three against one was an impossible situation. If he had Faris at his back, Perrigaul would jump into the fight without hesitation. Faris’s size and imperious manner drew all the attention and, subsequently, all the blows. Perrigaul found himself less willing to engage in an uneven fight without Faris acting as a meat shield.

He had Miriam to consider. She was not helpless, but the Widians had blasters and terrible aim.

The Khargal male shouted orders.

Right, there was one solution.

Perrigaul turned tail and ran, hauling Miriam with him.

Once out of the dining car, he shot the control panel. Sparks flew, rendering the door unusable.

Luxanya banged on the glass, fury on her face.

Perrigaul held up his blaster and shrugged his shoulders in apology. The damaged door would only be a minor delay, considering the way the door buckled as the female threw herself against it.

“That will not hold. Let’s go,” he said, moving through the carriage. They were in a passenger car. He felt eyes watching the scene they made, but no one dared get involved. Fine by him.

They burst from the passenger car into the stifling hot air of the gangway connection between carriages. The maglev track meant the train’s engine ran nearly silent, but the rushing air created enough noise to rattle his scales.

“Do you have a plan? Because a chase on a train only goes one way,” Miriam said, shouting to be heard over the roar of rushing air.

“I am aware,” he said, locking the door and disabling it with a blast before pulling her through another carriage. He needed to reach the storage car, where he paid too many credits to stow his hovercycle.

Another passenger car.

Perrigaul spotted the green jacket of a train steward. “You. Which car is storage?” he demanded.

The steward pointed over Perrigaul’s shoulder, the direction they just left. “Of course,” he muttered.

At the far end of the carriage, the gangway door burst open.

Time to move.

The next carriage held more passengers. Perrigaul did not like this. They were running out of carriages and doors for the Widians to break.

The next gangway connection had a solution. He forced open a door. Hot, humid air roared past. Just outside the door, a ladder was affixed to the outside of the train, leading to the roof. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do.

“Climb,” he ordered.

CHAPTER 6

MIRIAM

“ARE you out of your lizard-brained mind?”

“We go up unless you want to face the consequences of your actions.”

“My actions? You told me to fight!”

His quills went up, displaying some subtle sign of his emotions that she just couldn’t read. “Yes, and I will lavish you with praise when we have made our getaway.”

She felt mushy and flustered inside at the promise to lavish her with praise. She really shouldn’t feel mushy or flustered. He said some truly awful things about her.

“I did not mean those words,” he said, as if sensing her thoughts. “You are just the sort of trouble I like.”

There she went, going all mushy and flustered again.

Did they kiss now? It seemed like the right time to kiss. She leaned toward him. His quills relaxed. With a hand on her shoulder, he pulled her closer.

“Perrigaul, I—”

A blaster shot shattered the glass in the carriage door.

“Scoot,” he said, pushing her out the open door.

What the—

Miriam grabbed onto the ladder before she could fall to her demise, her heart pounding in her ears. Her arms twisted around the rungs, the metal digging into her skin, as her feet swung free. Hot air whipped around her, stinging her eyes.

She kicked and scrambled until she got a foothold on the lowest rung. If they survived this, she was going to straight-up murder Perrigaul for that little stunt.

With trembling arms, Miriam pulled herself up a rung. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the strength, but that she was terrified.

A firm pair of hands planted on her ass and pushed her up. Miriam squeaked in surprise, kicking at Perrigaul’s head. “Don’t push me!”

“Move!” he shouted, or something to that effect. She couldn’t hear him over the wind and the general noise of her heart trying to escape her body.

Breathe.

She could do this. She didn’t beat childhood cancer to die because some featherbrained red lizard pushed her out of a train.

Glancing down, she saw that he half-hung out of the doorway. He tugged at her nearest foot, encouraging her to climb.

She smashed his fingers under her foot just because. He snatched his fingers away, barking something rude, but smiling. Fueled by spite, she pulled herself to the top of the ladder and onto the roof of the train.

Perrigaul climbed up, nimble and as surefooted as a mountain goat. Goxuin, that’s what they called mountain goats here, not that she’d seen one in person, but she heard him brag.

It would probably go against her self-interest to shove Perrigaul off the train, right? Maybe his inflated ego would soften his landing?

The wind was worse and the rocking of the train kept Miriam on her knees, yet somehow Perrigaul was standing upright like it was no trouble at all, the jerk.

Yeah, shoving him off the train required her to get to her feet, and that made her queasy, so that was the only thing saving his life today.

He held out a hand.

She shook her head. Not happening. “I’ll crawl,” she shouted.

He wasn’t having it. He hauled her to her feet, and it was terrible. The blood rushed to her head and the ground kept moving, and it messed with her sense of balance.

Miriam buried her face against Perrigaul’s chest. “I can’t,” she said.

“You can.” He took a step back, forcing her to follow if she wanted his stability.

She could do this.

Miriam took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The train tilted, going into a bend. Miriam gasped, dropping to her hands and knees. When the train leveled off again, Perrigaul helped her to her feet.

Step by step, they crept forward. Perrigaul doled out praise and questionable advice. “You are the most capable human I know.”

“Oh, you gotta qualify that? The most capable human?” The insult helped her focus and Perrigaul knew that about her. He really knew her.

“You are doing well. Do not look at your feet. Look at my handsome face. Imagine the delight and pride in my eyes when we are free of this train.”

Imagine how delighted she’d be to wipe that grin off his face, more like.

A shot came through the carriage roof, and that worked like a charm to get her moving.

They scrambled along the top of the train, the metal echoing with each heavy step. At the end of the carriage, Perrigaul jumped across the gap. Miriam hesitated.

“Jump! I will catch you.”

She backed up three steps and took a running start before leaping. On the other side, she slammed into Perrigaul, who stumbled but did not fall. Damn mountain goat.

Another blast through the roof. Perrigaul grabbed her hand and ran. She was so focused on not getting shot that she barely thought of the sway of the train under her feet or how easily it would be to step one wrong step and slide off. Only forward.

They cleared one carriage, then the next. Blasts came through the roof and Miriam really didn’t know what the guards’ problem was. Ari hadn’t seemed that upset when she threw her drink at him. He smiled, after all, and not the scary you-fucked-up smile, but a tickled smile.

Perrigaul stumbled but kept moving, limping to favor his left foot. When they reached a hatch in the roof, he shot off the lock and threw it open. “Hurry,” he ordered, before disappearing down the hatch.

All right then.

She peered through the hatch, seeing nothing but darkness. How was she supposed to—

Perrigaul grabbed her and pulled her roughly through, upside-down, legs flailing and screaming until she clung to his back. He released her, and she dropped to the floor.

“You didn’t have to grab me. I was coming down,” she snapped.

“You were not. You were about to tell me you fear heights or the dark or something inconvenient.”

“And just grabbing me without warning was better than letting me lower myself down? This is why no one likes you.”

“Alice likes me,” he said, a bit too quickly. Had she struck a nerve?

“Yeah, well, Alice’s hormones are all out of whack with the baby, so there’s no accounting for taste.” Miriam rose to her feet, tugging down her shirt and brushing dirt off her pants. With the dim lighting, she could make out stacked piles of luggage, crates, and larger items hidden in the shadows.

“What’s the plan? Hide with the luggage?” she asked.

Perrigaul pulled his hovercycle free from between crates. “Let’s discuss our exit strategy.”

PERRIGAUL

The hovercycle shot from the train with too much speed. The machine vibrated beneath him. Perrigaul gripped the cycle with his thighs, desperate to keep it upright. His foot throbbed, but he’d worry about it later, preferably when they were a considerable distance from the people shooting at them.

Miriam tightened her arms around him, her face buried against his back. While he didn’t mind the closeness, he did not like the moment of fear she had on the train.

Travel on the hovercycle was not conducive to conversation. The wind tore away any words of comfort he might have been able to offer.

It was just as well. What would he say? He was likely to blame her for wandering off and causing the fiasco, even if he had cheated one of the guards before, and they wanted some revenge. Faults on all sides. Fine. She wasn’t at fault. His foul mood drove her away, and his one task was to keep her safe. He swore to Alice, and he failed.

He did not like the way that Khargal looked at Miriam. Hungry. Amused. Like a predator toying with a snack before consuming it. She had clearly been in danger, and yet she laughed and smiled at the male like nothing was amiss.

Yes, he was upset because she had been in danger. No part of him felt jealous that her smiles and laughter were not for him.

By the time the first sun neared the horizon, Perrigaul decided to stop for the night. The injured foot made it difficult to control the hovercycle. Rest would do him good.

“We’re stopping here?” Miriam asked.

“It’s too dangerous to travel in the dark.” Not entirely true. The three moons cast sufficient light that he could see nearly as well as he could in the day. The pain in his foot, however, meant he would not be as alert as the terrain required.

Moving stiffly, she dismounted the cycle and stretched with her arms above her head. The setting sun highlighted the golden strands in her hair. The shirt lifted to reveal the smooth curve of her abdomen. Her skin was noticeably paler than that of her arms and face, which were exposed to the sun. He wondered if her stomach was as soft as it looked.

He looked away, suddenly feeling like he was watching something he shouldn’t.

“Do we have camping gear, or are we roughing it? I don’t mind either way,” she said.

Perrigaul found that hard to believe. If given the choice, he’d always take a sleeping mat or even a blanket over the cold, hard ground.

“I have some gear,” he said, unpacking the two sleeping mats. Compressed into a small package, they expanded and unfurled on the ground. He handed Miriam a thin blanket.

She gave it a dubious look.

“It will reflect your body heat,” he said.

“Looks like what they give you after an accident.” She sat down on the mat, folding her legs under her, and patted the space beside her. “Let’s have a look at your foot.”

“No.”

“Don’t be all stoic about it. Did you lose a toe? Do you have a hole in your foot?”

“I do not have a hole in my foot.” He resisted the urge to sit down on her mat and let her fuss over him. “It’s fine.”

“You’re limping.” She sighed and then pulled out her best weapon. “Perrigaul, please. I'm worried.”

Well, rotza. What else could he do?

“I do not have the supplies to clean a wound or remove damaged scales,” he said. “If I am being honest, I fear that I could not put my boot back on if I remove it tonight.”

She frowned and chewed on her lower lip. “I don’t like it, but I’ll have to accept that. What do we have for dinner?"

He tossed her a packaged meal, followed by a bottle of water. “It’s self-heating. Just add water.”

“I like the way they glued the spoon onto the bag. Very classy.”

“Eat,” he ordered, ripping into his bag.

The temperature dropped as the second sun slipped below the horizon. He regretted not bringing a thermal pack. They were small and efficient enough.

Miriam shivered, wrapping herself in the thin blanket and rubbing her hands up and down her arms.

He could not tolerate the situation.

“Come here,” he said, extending his arm.

“What?”

“We can share body heat. You are too soft skinned. Come.” He gestured with his hand for her to move to him. She gave him a reluctant look. That was fair. His behavior that day had been… less than admirable. “I cannot come to you because of my foot.”

That seemed to do the trick. She dragged her mat to his and settled in next to him. He placed his blanket over both their shoulders.

She leaned against him and sighed. “How are you so warm? It’s not fair.”

“Some evolutionary advantage, I suspect.”

“Yeah, tricking cold ladies into snuggling up to you.”

The situation was hardly a trick, but he would not complain. It suited him well enough.

Silence fell between them. The hum of insects filled the air. In the distance, he heard the call of a nighttime avian predator. It was peaceful.

Miriam looked up at the stars. The night sky was clear, unobstructed by the lights or pollution of a large settlement. The moons seemed larger, somehow.

“Where did you find me?” she asked.

He scanned the sky. “It is difficult to say. I could show you on a star chart.”

“Can you point to the general part of the sky?”

He could not. Instead, he pointed to the smaller of the three moons. “Beyond the moon, in the debris field. It is far enough way to escape the moon's orbit, but hidden by most scans.”

She said nothing for a time. “Do you know any of the constellations?” she asked.

“No. Stargazing is a luxury.”

She laughed. “Oh, you're serious.”

He nearly bit his tongue in two, resisting his first impulse, which was to lecture her about fanciful wastes of time and stargazing. Instead, he told her the truth. “When I was a hatchling, I never saw the stars except on a handful of clear nights. There was too much pollution in the city. But when the smog lifted, my clutch mates and I would climb onto the roof of the tallest building we could find. The stars were like gems.”

“It was like that for me on Earth. I lived in the city. The only time I ever saw the stars was when I went camping. I mean, I could see the moon and some stars, but not like this. Not with everything so black and only those for light.” She waved a hand at the sky, the blanket's material crinkling. “Ancient humans told stories about the stars. They were our legendary heroes, forever remembered in constellations. Like, there's Orion, the hunter. Okay, I'm blanking on the actual story.”

Perrigaul’s gaze fell from the stars to Miriam’s face. Her eyes were wide, shining in the starlight, as she told him about her half-remembered fable.

“We do not have anything like that," he said. "On Nakkon, I am sure we have those stories, but I do not know them. I've never heard of any such tales on Reazus.”

“We should make one.” She bumped her shoulder against his like they were conspirators. “It’d be fun.”

Fun. Foolishness, more like. Still, part of him wanted to indulge her absurd suggestion.

He returned his gaze to the moons, searching for inspiration. “There are three brothers.”

“Oh, this sounds interesting. Tell me about the three brothers.”

“The first to hatch is the strongest.” He pointed to the largest moon, then to the slightly smaller moon close by. “The second hatched not long after. He is always chasing his brother. The third was late to hatch. They did not believe he would hatch, but he did.” He pointed to the smallest moon, the one that hid Miriam from being discovered by slavers.

“He sounds scrappy,” she said.

Perrigaul hummed in agreement.

“They were given tasks by their parents, the two suns. The eldest was to bring light to the dark world.”

“A serious job.”

“For a serious male,” he agreed.

“I think the second brother is such a tag-along that he abandoned his job just to follow his brother around,” she said, picking up the thread of the story.

“You do know this tale.”

She turned, smiling at him. “Hmm. I think his assigned job was to control the tides, but he's too close to his brother, so the tides get messed up.”

“And the third brother?”

“The baby of the family? He’s got the best job of them all.” She paused, not elaborating, as if waiting for him to finish spinning the story.

He considered the smallest moon. Its light was not as bright as the others, as it was a greater distance from the planet. “He is the herald. He is the first to appear in the sky to announce the arrival of his brothers. He is always racing ahead of them. They never meet.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“It can be, but he has friends among the stars.” As much as he wanted to gaze at Miriam and see her in the moon’s light, he kept his eyes on the smallest moon. It might have been lonely once, but it sheltered Miriam while she slept in a stasis chamber, drifting in a debris field. It was absurd to imagine that a moon kept her safe because it needed a friend, yet that was the sentiment stirring inside him.

Miriam yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. “Is it okay if I sleep next to you? It’s too cold to move away.”

“That is agreeable.”

They settled onto the mats, wrapped in their blankets. When her breathing evened out, Perrigaul risked watching her sleeping. The moonlight cast a silvery sheen on her complexion. Traces of jealousy still lingered, as absurd as that was. He wasn't jealous of some random male.

Still, he had a fair amount of smug satisfaction knowing that he was the one sleeping who slept next to her, not that Khargal male.

CHAPTER 7

PERRIGAUL

“ARE you sure this is the place?” Miriam asked, the first words she had spoken to him in hours. She moved the goggles to the top of her head and lowered her scarf. The sun had left an outline of the goggles on her face.

Traveling at high speed on the hovercycle wasn’t exactly conducive to conversation, but he had the feeling that she wasn’t in a talkative mood. Once the sun came up and the reality of cold, stiff muscles from a night sleeping on the ground settled in, she fell silent.

Fine by him. He didn’t need Miriam to chatter at him. He needed her to listen.

“This is the place.” Once they escaped the train, Perrigaul refused to stop. He badly needed to assess the damage to his foot, but knew that once his boot came off, it wouldn’t go back on. They needed to get to their destination before he could tend to his injury, which meant traveling non-stop that morning with Miriam’s arms wrapped tight against his stomach.

He had not prepared himself adequately for that. Pressed against him, his two hearts beat in rhythm with her.

Perrigaul pressed a hand to his chest.

One. Only one heart.

He parked the cycle a good distance from the tavern and ignored the pain in his foot and the stiffness in various locations in his body.

The air stank of fish. It brought back childhood memories, not necessarily good ones.

The settlement on the coast offered a deep-water harbor that attracted a variety of ships, some commercial, some less than commercial but entirely enterprising. The islands had always been difficult to regulate when Reazus still operated as a prison. Naturally occurring mineral deposits interfered with scans, offering plenty of nooks and crannies for escaped prisoners to hide. A collection industry sprouted up, capturing fugitives, which continued to thrive after the prison had been abandoned. A bounty was a bounty. No one seemed too particular about who paid so long as they paid.

Faris and Perrigaul had stayed a time on the islands when Perrigaul was still a hatchling. At first, the isolation and lack of constant noise unnerved him. He had spent his entire life in a crowded city, stealing scraps to survive. What was he meant to do with silence and sunshine?

It was unnatural.

Even now, the humidity and salt in the air made his scales crawl.

Breathing deeply, he took in the stinking fish odor of the docks, but it did not help. Miriam’s scent was caught in his nostrils. She was clean, citrusy soap, dust, and summer heat. Hours he spent trying not to think about the way she pressed up against him.

Fleeing the train on the hovercycle added unnecessary time to their journey, but there had been no alternative. He needed a drink and wanted a bath, but would settle for a basin of hot water, clean bandages, and food that wasn’t smashed from being in Miriam’s bag all day.

He headed toward the building perched on a floating dock, his boots thudding on the wooden boards. Pain lanced up his leg with each step, but Perrigaul had enough practice to keep his face blank. Never show weakness.

He focused on the water lapping at the dock, letting his heart match that rhythm. The air had a sour, rotting odor.

Miriam reluctantly followed, saying, “It looks like the sort of place where you’d get attacked by sea monsters. Do you have sea monsters here?”

They walked past a fishmonger. Her head swiveled, taking in the sawmouth, a deep-sea fish that looked like what you’d expect.

“Of course you do. It was silly of me to ask,” she said.

“Those are just fish.”

“Right, but how many tentacles? The size? How man-eating are the fish?” She pointed to a boat unloading the day’s catch.

“No more than usual.” Perrigaul grabbed her hand to stop her from pointing. Had she no sense of survival? Now that he had her hand, he refused to let go. For legitimate safety reasons, not because he enjoyed how delicate her hand felt. “I’m sure that lives have ended here. That is inevitable. Stay close to me. Don’t talk to anyone. No lives have to end today.”

Clear. Concise. Yet Miriam argued.

“Why are we here? I’m just going to keep asking questions so you can answer them out here or inside the sea monster hut.” She lifted a shoulder in a human gesture he knew to be indifference. “I’m fine either way.”

“I’d like a cold drink. You may stay out in the sun with the stinking fish.” He strode toward the building, confident Miriam would follow.

She made an exasperated noise, but he heard her footsteps after his.

“You’re smiling, aren’t you?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.

“Liar.”

“Without a doubt.”

The tavern was not the safest location for a meeting, but it was not the worst. On the docks of the seaside settlement, the business offered a central location for enterprising souls to meet. Everyone needed to eat and drink, after all.

He schooled his face to be a stoic, unreadable mask when they entered. The tavern’s patrons fell silent as they took the measure of Perrigaul and Miriam.

Her hand squeezed his.

After a pause, the general noise of conversation resumed.

Moving carefully to not betray his injury, Perrigaul took a seat at a table near a wall that allowed him a view of the entrance. He flagged down a server and ordered enough food and beverages to keep Miriam occupied. Their meals came quickly—simple fried fish without pretension that was probably not spoiled and accompanying fried root vegetables.

Miriam frowned at the plate. “Any chance of something not fried? Maybe a green vegetable?”

“Eat. Many on this planet do not have the luxury of being picky.”

The atmosphere inside the tavern felt off. It made his tail twitch. He scanned the room, looking for the source of his unease.

“You’re not eating?” Miriam asked, biting into a root vegetable.

“I have too much on my mind to enjoy a meal,” he said, even as his stomach grumbled.

Miriam snorted. “Oh, you’re serious. That wasn’t just tough talk. Look, nibble on something. You’ll get low blood sugar.”

She pushed a plate of fish toward him.

“I do not care for fish.”

“Oh really? Despite many on this planet not having the luxury of being picky?” Her tone deepened to mock him.

He picked up a battered piece, shoved it into his mouth, and chewed with malice.

“Charming, but you don’t have the worst table manners in here,” Miriam said.

Rotza. Nothing fazed this female. That was such a desirable quality that it infuriated him. He didn’t understand why he wanted to get her riled and see her flustered. Yes, her skin would flush to that delightful shade of pink, but that change would only be fleeting. He wanted to know that he affected her. He made her body respond to him on an instinctual level.

Perrigaul ate another piece, swallowing down the fish that tasted of nothing but salt and stale grease.

“I’d ask if we’re here for just a meal, but I don’t think you operate that way. We’re meeting someone, aren’t we?”

“We are.” He washed down the meal with the tepid beer. It was just vile enough to wash away the taste of the fish.

“Can we trust them?”

Perrigaul leaned back in his chair and scanned the room again. “You ask too many questions.”

“Or you could just tell me things.”

“Or you could just sit there and be quiet.”

Miriam wrinkled her nose and frowned, and it pleased him to know that he put that expression there.

“His name is Vasha. I do not think we can trust him, but the only person I trust is Faris.” Perrigaul’s tail flicked to one side. “He is a known quantity, and his loyalty can be secured with credits.”

“No honor among thieves, huh?”

“Honor does not put food in your belly. I have been hungry enough not to worry about such useless concepts.”

Her smirk vanished. “I guess not.” She picked at her plate. “How long do we wait?”

“As long as it takes.” The next step of the journey required a submersible vehicle, associated equipment, and a person he could trust not to abandon him in Mer’len’s underwater palace to drown. The requirements left him with a very short list. Too short. If he could hire a random stranger without the worry of a double-cross, he would.

Time softened the hardest scales, right? Vasha would understand. Decisions had to be made, and there were no good options.

Coming here was a risk, but Perrigaul felt confident that Vasha’s greed for good credit would overrule his desire for revenge.

Probably.

“You have a lot of nerve dragging your scaley ass in here again, Perrigaul,” a gruff voice said.

MIRIAM

This guy did not look happy to see them.

He loomed over the table, tall and built like plowing through brick walls was his purpose in life. He was Nakkoni, like Perrigaul and Faris. Unlike them, he was opalescent. His scales were a milky white with a strange rainbow sheen, like an oil slick. A thick scar slashed across one cheek.

Miriam scooted her chair closer to Perrigaul.

“Vasha, old friend—” Perrigaul stood, spreading his arms wide in greeting.

“Do not,” Vasha warned.

“I bring gifts.”

Vasha’s gaze drifted to Miriam, and he gave her an assessing look. She did not like it for a couple of reasons. One, she wasn’t property. Two, where did he get off sneering like she was a withered old potato Perrigaul scrounged up from the back of the pantry? Three, she didn’t need another reason. Screw that guy.

“I don’t trade in flesh,” Vasha said.

Perrigaul’s quills went flat. “Neither do I. This is the gift.” He reached into his coat pocket and produced a small vial filled with a sickly green powder. With a flourish, he placed it in the center of the table. “Night Mother. Uncut. Fresh.”

Unbelievable. Miriam was abducted by aliens, frozen for three years, and now she was in the middle of a drug deal.

Vasha wrapped a massive hand around the vial. “You said gifts. Plural.”

“The delight of my company,” Perrigaul replied.

Vasha was impervious to Perrigaul’s questionable charm. Miriam sort of liked him. He said, “Davith put a bounty on your head. I’d expect a male with a price tag to be a touch more humble.”

“That bounty is insultingly low.”

Miriam turned in her seat to face Perrigaul. “Someone put a bounty on you?”

“Yes, because I am an impressive and dangerous criminal,” he said and produced a second vial filled with a milky liquid. “The antidote, in case you’re feeling forgiving.”

Vasha barked with laughter, then plopped down at the table. The chair groaned under his weight. “I like your optimism. What is the job? It had better be lucrative. I’m not running a charity.”

“About that,” Perrigaul said. “This is more of a scouting mission.”

Vasha’s mirth vanished. “Credits up front. You cover fuel, equipment, and other expenses.”

“Define other expenses.”

“Whatever I feel like. A drink, for one. New boots to replace the ones I ruined kicking your tail out of town.”

Miriam turned in her chair to look at Perrigaul. Exactly how much shit did this guy stir? So far, every person they’ve run into had a beef with him, especially that guard on the train. She couldn’t wait to ask him what that had been about.

“Remain quiet,” Perrigaul said, holding up a finger to silence her. “I can hear you thinking.”

“I haven’t said a thing,” she said in a sweet voice.

He huffed, then turned his attention back to Vasha. “A drink with an old friend is a pleasure, not a business expense.”

Tension sparked and snapped between the two. Whatever they were, they were not friends.

A fresh round of grog arrived. The brew in the mostly clean mug was not watered rum; it was something akin to what happens when you dump out all the partially empty bottles of booze into a cauldron and let it simmer. Not good. Not so terrible to make you spit it out. Definitely alcoholic.

Vasha sprinkled a few grains of Night Mother into his mug. “I’m building a tolerance,” he explained. “My striking coloration is due to my highly disciplined regimen of daily poison. Just enough to not kill me.”

He stirred the contents and then took a long swig.

“You poison yourself on purpose?” Miriam asked, too stunned to care about the redundant question.

“It keeps me pretty,” Vasha said, his quills flexing up.

Perrigaul leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table like he could block Miriam from Vasha’s gaze. “Stop flirting.”

“I can’t help it if the female has eyes. She appreciates having something sweet to look at.” More quill flexing.

Gross.

Miriam knocked her knee against Perrigaul’s leg. “Stop being jealous.”

He huffed.

“Tell me about the job,” Vasha said.

“As I said, it’s scouting. I can’t guarantee a payout. We’ve got information, but it might be nothing,” Perrigaul said.

“I’m not running a sightseeing tour, and I’m not risking my ship and my equipment because you’re curious.”

“My credits spend as well as any other’s.”

They stared at each other like it was a standoff at high noon.

“This is ridiculous. It’s Merlin’s underwater palace. We found a map,” Miriam said.

Vasha leaned back in his chair and scoffed. “Mer’len’s Sunken Palace? Bedtime stories. Do not waste my time.”

Perrigaul gestured to Miriam. “Show him.”

The journal landed on the table with a thump, opening to a random page. She flipped through the pages looking for the folded map. “The map’s not here. I must have dropped it on the train.”

“That Khargal wretch took it,” Perrigaul growled.

“How could Ari?” Miriam remembered him grabbing the journal without her permission. He must have taken the map then.

“My, you have been having an interesting day,” Vasha said.

“The map’s not important. It was obviously a fake.” She found the right page and shoved the book to the center of the table. “The journal is real. This Mer’len, he documented everything. Absolutely everything, and not just the day-to-day. He kept lists. Food. Wine. Friends. Enemies. Antiques. Household expenses, which is quite the bill. He threw some Caligula-level parties.”

Perrigaul and Vasha both gave her a puzzled look. “Is your translator functioning properly?” Perrigaul asked. “That word is gibberish.”

“Caligula, the Roman emperor known for his cruelty and excessive… It doesn’t matter. Mer’len was like a spider who made the fanciest, shiniest web around, and he used it to trap people. He’d throw parties and entrap his guests for blackmail. He wrote it all down.” She flipped to a page that was little more than a date, a list of guests, and their particular vice.

“Who cares about blackmail? The only people worth blackmailing were the ones who ran this planet, and they are long gone,” Vasha said.

“The credits didn’t go to a bank,” Miriam said, flipping more pages. She lowered her voice to keep their conversation as private as possible in the busy tavern. “He repeats this phrase, ‘signifies my investment.’ I think that’s his vault.”

“Mer’len’s vault is a legend. Treasure hunters have combed through the Sunken Palace and no one’s found any hidden vault.”

She tapped the numbers written in the margin. “This is a code. I need more time to determine if it’s coordinates or a secret message. And here.” She flipped quickly to a page with a sketch. “Building plans. He added a secret passage in the walls.”

“That is not a vault filled with treasure,” Vasha said, unimpressed.

“It means construction was ongoing,” Perrigaul explained. “We go. We have a proper look, not just a smash and grab like all the other treasure hunters.”

Vasha turned a few pages and scratched under his chin. “This is foolishness.”

“I am aware,” Perrigaul said.

“I will charge you three times more than I should. It is in your best interests to hire another ship.”

“I don’t want your ship. It’s not fit for the scrap heap. I want a crew whose loyalty I can buy, and you are so very purchasable.”

“That is almost a compliment,” Vasha said.

More staring. More dick measuring.

Perrigaul nudged her foot.

Miriam sighed. He wanted her to do something, and she couldn’t read his mind. She took the journal back and stuffed it in her satchel. “He’s not interested. I’m tired, and I want a bath. Let’s find another boat in the morning.”

She and Perrigaul stood. Vasha held up a hand. “Wait a moment. Have you no appreciation for the art of negotiation? One does not blurt out a price and expects the other to be so vulgar to accept.”

“Vulgar is the nicest thing I can say about you.”

“The personal insults just make me like you more, you flirt,” Vasha said. “You must really believe there’s a fortune to be made to spend so much credit.”

Perrigaul waved a hand at Miriam. “You see how clever my female is. She is not content to sit in luxury while I adorn her with baubles. She wants to hunt treasure, so we hunt. What do I care for credits when it brings her such joy?”

Wow, that was a big ol’ lie if ever she heard one.

Vasha gave her a skeptical look. Miriam smiled like this was the most thrilling thing to ever happen to her. Okay, it was. She was legit on a treasure hunt on an alien planet, following clues in a journal. This was basically the plot of every adventure book she read as a kid. And as an adult.

“I have known others to do worse to impress their mates,” Vasha said. “If you must waste my time, I will take your credits.”

They spit numbers at each other until they arrived at a figure that satisfied Vasha’s desire to screw Perrigaul on the price and Perrigaul’s need to buy Vasha’s temporary loyalty.

“We leave tonight,” Perrigaul said.

“I insist on it,” Vasha answered with a grin.

CHAPTER 8

MIRIAM

PERRIGAUL ARRANGED to keep his hovercycle in storage at the docks. With that task done, he gave a list of supplies to Vasha. The man waited, his hand outstretched. His opal white quills went up, like a question.

Reluctantly, Perrigaul gave Vasha several credit tokens. She suspected that her grumpy red lizard wasn’t really stingy or a cheapskate, but money was security. He never talked much about what led him to being convicted and transported to a prison planet as a literal child, but Miriam could guess that it wasn’t nice. If having a dragon’s hoard of credits made Perrigaul feel safe, what was the harm? She regretted egging him on at the market, paying too much for the journal just to spite him.

“Load your things into cargo. I’ll take care of the list,” Vasha said, pocketing the list and credits. “You can find your cabin. I’ve only got one for passengers, so you’ll have to share.”

“We can share,” Perrigaul said, sounding less than thrilled, which was super flattering for her ego.

When Vasha left, she bumped her arm into Perrigaul. He gave her a shocked look. “Thank you,” she said, nearly whispering.

His shoulders relaxed. “Do not thank me. This was my scheme. It is my fault that I failed to account for greedy males charging double.”

With a huff, he picked up the bags and boarded the ship. His limp grew more noticeable with each step.

“Good thing you’re allowed to wear cranky pants when you’re hurt, otherwise I might think you don’t like me,” she called after him. That earned her a sassy tail twitch.

The ship itself was shaped like a dragonfly with four solar panels radiating from a cigar-like body. It bobbed in the water of the harbor. Miriam couldn’t unsee the dragonfly.

“I expected a, you know, spaceship, not a boat,” she said, following with her bag.

“This ship is capable of orbital, atmospheric, and submersible travel.” The hatch opened as he approached. Before he left, Vasha added them to the ship’s security protocol.

“Is that why you hired him? His boat?”

“In part. We’ve worked together in the past. He is predictable.”

“But can we trust him?” she asked.

“Vasha is a predictable male,” Perrigaul answered, which told her nothing.

Miriam crossed the threshold and found herself in a jungle. Plants covered the walls and hung from the ceiling. Green tendrils reached for the light panel, creating an arch effect like standing in a leafy tunnel.

“Do not touch or ingest anything. Vasha not only collects poisons, he also grows his own,” Perrigaul warned.

Miriam walked in the center of the corridor, keeping her elbows tucked to her side. “That’s interesting. You know, on Earth, there’s a special garden dedicated to poison. The poisoner’s garden. The front gates have skulls on them.” She wasn’t sure where the garden was located, but she remembered seeing the photos of the entrance gate on the internet.

“That is very practical.”

She nearly laughed at the admiration in his tone. “Not going to tell me that humans are weird? Or demand to know why?”

“Educational purposes, I presume, but I would not be surprised if the answer is ‘because they are pretty.’”

Now she laughed. “Some poisonous plants are really pretty. There’s oleander, which is gorgeous, and is so toxic that a single leaf can kill an adult. So of course, it’s an ornamental bush planted everywhere.”

“Humans are weird. I do not need to tell you this.” He opened a cabin door and limped inside, which stopped her impending lecture about nightshade plants, heart medication, and tomatoes. Humans were weird.

The cabin was, thankfully, free of plants. It was a bunk that did not look big enough for two, and a sideboard and cabinets built into the wall.

Perrigaul sank upon the mattress and opened his pack.

“Not exactly the lap of luxury,” she said, taking the medical kit from Perrigaul. “Get that boot off and let me take a look at your foot.”

“It is fine.” He unzipped the boot at the back and loosened the ties on the front. The foot was not good. Bright red blood soaked his sock.

Miriam sat on the floor and carefully removed the sock.

“You do not have to play medic for me. I am capable,” he protested.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. She was certified in first aid, and blood never really bothered her. “Unless your ankles are double-jointed, I don’t think you’ll be able to get a good look at your foot.”

His feet were fascinating with four long toes and a claw on the heel. She’d never really had an up-close look at him, because they didn’t have that kind of friendship. Miriam might be slow to pick up on social cues, but she understood it was rude to grab a person’s hand to ooh and ahh over the delicate scaly skin of their palms. Or the soles of their feet. Which, for the record, were so fine that Miriam brushed a finger down his foot to verify that scales were present.

“Watch it,” Perrigaul snapped, his foot jerking away.

“Sorry. You had… a spider.” She rolled her eyes at her lame excuse. “Hold still while I clean you up.”

Using a cloth and a generous helping of cleansing solution, she cleaned her hands and then his foot. The dried blood flaked away easily enough, but it got down into the grooves between the scales.

She did her best not to tickle him, and he did his best not to kick her in the head. Mostly, she was amazed at how supple the soles of his feet felt. That shouldn’t be possible. The man worked hard and was on his feet all day. Her feet, in comparison, looked rough, but she ran every morning and sparred. No amount of lotion or moisturizing spa socks would save them.

“Well? Tell me, what is the damage?” Perrigaul said.

“I’m not sure. Four toes. Is that the right number?”

Perrigaul flopped back onto the bed, as if exasperated. “Yes. That is the correct number of toes.”

“Good news then. It looks like your pinky toe was grazed. Your back claw is broken, though.”

“I know about my talon. It will regrow, and my toes are not pink.”

“Nope, it’s all scraped up and pink.” Scales jutted out at odd angles, the odd fabric thread caught on the broken edges. That couldn’t be comfortable. “Do I push the scales back down?”

“Remove them. The skin underneath will not heal properly with broken scales. There is a tool in the kit.”

“Will that hurt?”

“Does it hurt when your scales are plucked?”

“If you mean my fingernails, well, it depends. They fall out if they’re damaged.” She dug through the medical kit until she found what looked like pliers. She tested them, opening and closing the pinchers. Perrigaul’s foot tensed when she grabbed hold of his heel.

Yeah, this was probably going to hurt.

“You know, when I was six or seven, I slammed my thumb in the bathroom door. It got caught on the door plate, I guess, because my thumb turned black and blue and swelled up,” she said, plucking away the most damaged scales. They were delicate, and she had to lean in close to see properly. The cabin could do with better lighting. “It wasn’t broken, but after a week my thumbnail fell out. I was so grossed out. The skin underneath was all pink and wrinkly, and my thumb was just so naked. I couldn’t stand to touch anything.”

“You are trying to distract me with tales of how you injured yourself.” He sucked in his breath as she removed a stubborn scale, and breathed out slowly. “That is a questionable strategy.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t exactly run riot as a kid. I was sick a lot. Slamming doors were the most dangerous things I encountered.” That and the leukemia, but the details were irrelevant. “So, this might be an ignorant question, but if you lost part of your toe, would it grow back?”

He remained silent for a long moment.

“Never mind,” she said. “That was probably racist.”

“My limbs do not regrow. Do yours?”

“Well, no, but you said your claw would grow back.”

“That is keratin. I do not regrow limbs like some… some magical, perpetually sprouting…” He fumbled, as if searching for the correct word. “Sprout,” he concluded, because that was obviously the correct word.

“Well, excuse me for being curious. Some lizards and reptiles regrow limbs on Earth. It was an honest question.”

“It was an ignorant question. I am not a lizard.”

“Yeah, but now you’re not thinking about what I’m doing.” She tossed the tool down onto the floor on top of the dirty cloth. “All done. Is there an ointment I should use?”

Perrigaul directed her to use the green tube. The ointment certainly smelled pungent enough to be medicinal. She applied a generous layer and wrapped his foot in gauze. He inspected her work, giving it an approving nod, and put on a fresh pair of socks.

“It’s kind of amazing you didn’t lose a toe,” she said, handing him his boot. A bullet hole went clean through.

Perrigaul slipped it on, zipping up the back around the claw and lacing up the front. Something so ordinary shouldn’t have been so interesting. He sat at the edge of the bed, putting weight on his foot.

“Thank you,” he said. “And I do like you, Miriam. I apologize if my behavior makes you think otherwise.”

As apologies went, it wasn’t the worst.

A blush rose to her cheeks. “I like you, too.”

PERRIGAUL

Miriam kneeled between his legs. If she leaned forward, only a thin layer of cloth would keep her mouth from his stem.

A vivid blush spread across her face, as if she had the same thought.

No good would come of this. He had a dozen very good reasons why he should ignore the attractive female at his feet. She had been brought to this planet against her will. She had only recently been woken from stasis and still suffered side effects. She knew only a handful of people, and how could she choose him when she knew so little of the world?

If he touched her, kissed her, buried his stem inside her until his petals unfurled and filled her, then he would not let her go. Both his hearts would beat for her, fixing the mate bond in place.

In time, she would grow to resent him. She would see how he took advantage of the situation, charming her into believing that he was a good choice. No one chose Perrigaul, not even his own family. The only one who had ever chosen him was Faris, and only because he needed someone small to crawl through an air duct.

“I, umm, should…” Her words faded as Perrigaul placed a finger under her chin, tilting her face toward him.

This would only end badly, yet he still leaned down to kiss her.

Her lips were soft. He knew that. He only had to look at her plump lips to know they were soft, but the impossible pillowy feel of them still amazed him. Her teeth nipped at his lips, and then she opened to him. Her tongue brushed against his, sending a jolt of pure hunger through him.

She grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer. His hand settled at the back of her head, fingers tangling through her silky hair. Every touch felt correct.

Miriam pulled away, her heart hammering loud enough for him to hear. Eyes glossy with desire, she licked her lips.

CHAPTER 9

PERRIGAUL

PERRIGAUL STOOD ABRUPTLY. HE NEEDED AIR.

“I must speak with Vasha,” he announced, leaving before Miriam could distract him with her questions or her lips or her… herself.

He ran a hand over his face, attempting to scrub her scent from his nostrils. His foot throbbed, distracting him from the tightness in his pants. The cabin was far too small to share. He’d sleep on the floor. Better yet, he’d sleep in the corridor.

He eyed a flowering vine that seemed to follow him as he passed.

Perhaps not. Knowing Vasha, the plants would actively try to poison him if he slept in the corridor.

Perhaps he could find a place to rest with the cargo.

He checked the supplies Vasha had purchased against the requisition list. The contents seemed in order. Amid the supply crates, he scouted for a reasonable nook to claim. He’d slept in worse places, although not for some years. He was hardly ancient, but his body protested nights spent on hard floors.

He busied himself with stacking and re-stacking crates. It was no good. His mind kept returning to the way she looked up at him with her round eyes, all warm honey and deceptively sweet on her knees. No doubt she could incapacitate him with nothing more than a sharp word and pressure to an artery.

He had never known a more attractive female.

His stem swelled in complete agreement. Was this the fever? Was that why he was so… susceptible to Miriam when he had not found her attractive until she demanded that he respect her wishes and knocked him on his tail to drive home the point?

That was not entirely true. He had found her physical form appealing from the moment she emerged from the stasis pod, but he had been able to ignore her allure. He found the idea of acting on his attraction while she was vulnerable to be utterly repugnant. What were soft skin and round eyes? Liabilities.

Somehow, over the last few months, she had moved from being a vulnerable target to a threat. Now, she was interesting.

The pain in his foot distracted him from the uncomfortable swelling of his stem. This wasn’t the fever. He was old enough to have suffered through the restless burning of a fever, when his body overproduced hormones to force a molting of his scales. It was uncomfortable, but it passed.

The intensity of this need was different. This would not pass. This was his cock and his heart finding strong-willed, intelligent females irresistible. They had always been a source of trouble in the past, as those two fools could not be trusted to make good decisions. Now they demanded that he take Miriam as his mate. They wanted to bond with her and keep her close always.

“Keep her occupied for a few days,” he muttered to himself, moving more crates because what else was he going to do? Stroke himself in the cargo hold like an adolescent who could not control himself? “Waste her time with a fool’s quest. Yes, a brilliant plan. Now you are on a small ship with one bed, and she said she likes you.”

She liked him.

He tossed down the crate with too much force. The wood groaned and creaked.

“Planning on robbing me?” Vasha asked, ducking through the doorway into the cargo hold.

“I am organizing your mess,” Perrigaul said, moving another crate.

“I have a system. Now I don’t know where anything is.”

“You had chaos. Now the nutritional supplements for your plants are together, instead of being in a dozen places. You will be able to use the older packets before they expire.”

“My system—”

“Was a waste of credits, and we both know how much you love credits,” Perrigaul said.

Vasha grabbed the door frame above his head and stretched his back. “Almost as much as you. Where is your mate?”

“Miriam is not my mate.”

Vasha made a clicking noise. “You protest too quickly. How are you such a poor liar?”

“That is highly offensive. I am an excellent liar.”

The male did not laugh, which was fine by Perrigaul. He did not particularly feel like entertaining him.

“The female’s scent is on you, but you do not stink of her,” Vasha said. Perrigaul tensed, prepared for the male to make some crude threat to steal Miriam. Instead, he said, “Good. Control yourself.”

Perrigaul relaxed marginally. “There is nothing to control.”

Vasha made a disbelieving noise. “It is a small ship. I do not wish to see, hear, or smell your mating.”

The two males stared at each other. Quills went up. Tails twitched. Fury burned in Vasha’s pale, poisoned eyes. The last time they stared off, one of them ended up bleeding on the floor and the other fled with a pile of stolen credits.

“I’m not sure if I should be impressed at your nerve or pity your lack of intelligence,” he said. “I will betray you the moment it becomes convenient.”

Perrigaul should have found other transportation. He disliked people on principle. No one on Reazus Prime was there for a good reason. While he was willing to take his chances with an unknown person, he was not willing to risk Miriam’s safety. Vasha was a known element.

“You are nothing if not predictable,” Perrigaul said. “There will be a credit bonus for our safe return to the mainland.”

Vasha’s tail whipped to the side, intrigued. “You are spending a lot of credits on a female who is not your mate.”

“Twice your fee for a safe return.”

“Oh, cease your flirting.” The words were humorous, but no one laughed.

“Is this the part where you threaten to leave me in the middle of the ocean?” Perrigaul asked.

Vasha’s quills flexed up and down. “I had planned to leave you at the bottom of the ocean, but for twice my fee, I’ll let you live.”

Unless a more lucrative opportunity comes along.

Vasha did not have to speak the words to Perrigaul to understand.

MIRIAM

Okay. That was unexpected.

Miriam kneeled on the floor, resting on her heels. She thought they were having a moment, then Perrigaul stormed out. He didn’t even offer an excuse or some explanation—he just left.

Rejection shouldn’t sting this much, and she refused to acknowledge the disappointment she felt.

Nope. Not disappointed. She didn’t throw herself at him. All she did was basic first aid because he was hurt and she’s not a heartless monster. He kissed her.

Anger simmered in the pit of her stomach, which was a lot better than queasy self-doubt.

Why did she care so much about Perrigaul, anyway? Sure, he was amusing, but he was also prickly. Honestly, he could be downright mean. She could probably pull out some tired metaphor about him being as mean as a snake with a toothache, but the day wore her out. She was exhausted. Second-guessing Perrigaul’s mood was exhausting. Worrying if he liked her or whatever high school-level nonsense was going on was super exhausting.

Miriam grabbed a towel and found the sanitation room. Life was too short to be dusty, stinky, and a little sticky from the ointment residue. By the time she returned to the cabin and crawled into bed, her anger had shifted from Perrigaul to herself.

Why was she even hung up on him? He was good-looking enough for certain non-human values of good-looking, but maybe that was her bias. She was just so used to his face that over the last few months it shifted from being an alien’s face to being Perrigaul’s face.

Yeah, that could be the root of her problem. It wasn’t attraction; it was familiarity. That had to be it.

Or maybe her fluttery feelings about Perrigaul were a pathetic attempt at rebellion against her controlling parents. They weren’t bad people. They just treated their adult daughter like she was still a kid with cancer. Their love suffocated her.

If Miriam had an alien husband, she couldn’t go back to Earth. That worked for Alice, who committed herself to her alien mate and their growing family. Sure, Alice planned to return to visit her mother, introduce her to the baby, and then fly the entire family off into the stars to live happily ever after.

Miriam? She’d go back to Earth and her ordinary life. What about the years she went missing? Shh. Don’t ask ugly questions.

No one asked Miriam if she wanted to go back to Earth. She was meh about the prospect of going home, and she wasn’t sure what motivated that apathy. Did she yearn to explore the universe? It sounded good.

Of course, living out of a van and traveling along the coast for a summer, waking up with the sunrise on a beach had sounded good to twenty-two-year-old Miriam. She did that for exactly a month before she admitted it was impossible to air out the sweaty foot funk from the van, beach sunrises notwithstanding. She cut her nomad days short, went home for the air conditioning and laundry facilities, and returned to grad school in the fall properly chastised.

Sincere feelings or lingering petulant teenager issues? Was her desire to roam the stars just van life 2.0? Or… or what? A crush on a prickly, downright rude alien? But earlier, on the train, he gave her a signal to cause some ruckus. In that moment, she felt like part of the gang, like she belonged. No one had ever done that before.

Everyone treated her like she was fragile because of her health history or a kid because she had a baby face. Even Alice, as much as they had been work friends, had talked down to Miriam because she was fresh out of school and looked it.

She liked Perrigaul, and she knew better.

Dammit.

CHAPTER 10

MIRIAM

MIRIAM HAD EXPECTED Mer’len’s Sunken Palace to be, well, a partially submerged building with towers rising above the waves. Maybe a building clinging to an island cliff like a dramatic villain’s lair for the villain who cared more about style than the ease of the henchmen’s commute. Or henchwomen. Basically, the paid minions.

Maybe, maybe—and this was a long shot—a giant stone statue that guarded the shadowy entrance to a cave, like out of a fantasy movie.

This, however, was underwhelming.

“Oh,” she said.

A simple doorway of poured concrete. That was it. Not even stone. No flashing lights. No dramatic statuaries. No cliffs, and certainly no sunken palaces. How disappointing.

Miriam gripped the ship’s railing. Wind lashed her hair against her face. She tried to hold it back with one hand, but the deck rolled with the waves and she’d rather cling to the railing and deal with messy hair later, thank you very much.

An emergency breathing apparatus hung around her neck. It had all the fashion sense of a glow-in-the-dark rave necklace, but apparently biting down on it activated the oxygen and the underwater suit. Miriam really hoped she never had to find out how it worked.

“Was the palace destroyed?” she asked.

“No. This is how it’s always been,” Perrigaul said.

He leaned against the railing. They didn’t touch. No big surprise. Since the kiss yesterday, he acted like she had cooties. He didn’t return to their cabin until the morning, changed into fresh clothes and changed the dressing on his foot, and then spent the day avoiding her. Considering the size of the ship, that was impressive.

She breathed in the sea air and closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the sea spray against her face. The water was an unbelievable turquoise, and the islands were a violet smudge on the horizon.

“This place is surprisingly beautiful,” she said, then continued before Perrigaul could lecture her about its ugly history. “I know, not everywhere, but here. This is lovely.”

“It is a dangerous world and makes for dangerous people.”

There it was, the lecture.

“I don’t know. The people I’ve met are okay.” She bumped her shoulder against him.

He grunted and then said, “There is a prairie with carnivorous grass.”

“That… sure is something.”

“There is a beach with pink sand. It is pulverized rose quartz. It sparkles.” He said the last bit like he couldn’t understand the audacity of sand to sparkle.

“That sounds neat. I’d like to see that.”

He said nothing. That was fine. He didn’t have to say anything. Miriam liked him better when he remained silent, anyway.

After knowing Perrigaul for months, he remained largely a mystery. For every story she shared about her life on Earth, he offered cautionary tales about life on Reazus Prime. Outlaws. Ex-prisoners. No rules. On and on. Never anything personal, other than he had been a child when he was sent to the prison planet. He didn’t have to explain himself. She could fill in the blanks with general woe and despair in his Mad Libs of misery.

Eventually, he said in the sourest voice she ever heard, “Perhaps when we are done wasting our time here.”

Aww. He was like a grumpy Care Bear learning how to make friends. She wanted to hug him and tease him about being sweet. Instead, she decided to make her own gesture of friendship.

She’d give him something to complain about.

“Do you have protective coloring?” she asked, keeping her voice innocent. Lord help her, she batted her lashes.

Perrigaul stared at her. “I am red.”

“Not an answer. Can you change your color? Or is red a defensive color for your natural environment?”

The side-eye—legendary.

“Whatever Earth animal you are thinking of, cease. My coloration can change, but it is not a practical process. I would have to shed my scales and select a nutritional source to generate a color other than red.”

“Right. I guess that was another ignorant question.”

“Ask your questions. You do not know what you do not know.”

She turned to face him, not bothering to hide her smile, and leaned against the railing. “That is so true. I had a professor who said that all the time, and it’s been with me ever since.”

He huffed, his quills flexing, the grump.

“Where did you sleep last night?” she asked, finally voicing the question that burned on the tip of her tongue all day.

“It does not matter.”

“It matters if you’re wearing grumpy pants because you slept on the floor.”

“Do not assign emotions to my trousers. They are regular pants,” he said, his voice firm.

“What’s a little anthropomorphizing between friends?”

Oh, the look on his face. Priceless.

Miriam beamed, thoroughly having a good time.

Perrigaul turned to face the water, apparently deciding to ignore her. Right. Whatever happened between them, he seemed determined to pretend it didn’t happen.

Familiar frustration kindled in her stomach again.

“Oh, this is silly,” she said. “You kissed me. We need to talk about it.”

“We do not.”

“We do and we did. In fact, I liked it. I think you liked it too.”

He huffed, remaining silent.

“Fine, don’t talk. You’ll never develop emotional maturity at this rate, Perrigaul. I mean, things are weird. I get it. We’re from two different worlds, yadda yadda yadda. We could work on this like healthy adults or ignore it.”

The ship sailed closer to the doorway.

Perrigaul grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her toward him. The sun caught his eyes, shimmering green and gold. His quills went down. His top lip curled back like he was about to snarl.

Her breath caught, and her heart did that fluttery thing again. Having an annoyed lizardman giving her a death stare should not have been hot, but here she was, licking her lips and wanting to call him Raphael because she never really outgrew her crush on the sarcastic ninja turtle. She had issues. She could admit that.

The bow of the ship entered the doorway. Distantly, Miriam wondered if the ship was slim enough to fit through, but Perrigaul held her attention.

“You talk too much,” he said, and his mouth crashed down over hers.

PERRIGAUL

Was he out of his mind? Kissing Miriam as a tactic to avoid talking about kissing Miriam was not his best idea.

She moaned, pressing against him. Her soft form fit perfectly against him.

Correction. This was his best idea.

“As charming as this is, you’ll want to wear the emergency breathers,” Vasha called from across the deck. The male’s tail wagged with amusement.

Miriam stepped back, placing the bit of breather into her mouth. Perrigaul wanted to pull her back into his arms. To not touch her seemed unusually heartless.

“Expecting your boat to spring a leak?” Perrigaul asked, directing his disappointment at the appropriate target.

“You may do what you wish,” Vasha answered. “I like the female. She may live.”

Miriam failed to notice their bickering. “Are we going through? Is the ship small enough?”

“She’ll fit,” Vasha replied.

“Should you not be piloting?” Perrigaul asked.

“It’s better to let the computer handle this. Besides, I enjoy the show.”

“What show?” Miriam asked, just as the sails lowered.

They tucked close to the body of the ship, blocking the sun. The shields activated, humming and sparking over the ship.

Miriam touched his arm like she needed reassurance. He did not mind. He could be very reassuring.

The ship entered the archway and plunged into darkness.

Perrigaul’s tail wrapped around her ankle. It was a forward gesture, reserved only for intimates or those one wished to become intimate with. He should be ashamed of himself, but he found he could not feel shame.

“Are we in a tunnel?” she asked.

Azure ocean water surrounded them. As the ship descended, the light faded.

“Not a tunnel, but we are on a guided track.” He pointed to a silver ring as they passed through. “We must trigger the sensors in the rings at the correct intervals to unlock the gate. Timing is important.”

“What happens if we get the timing wrong?”

“The gate will not open, we crash, and swim home,” Vasha said, then laughed like he told a magnificent joke. “Do not fear. Perrigaul may swim today, but you will not.”

“Because I’m your favorite?” she asked.

Vasha laughed and proceeded to do… whatever it was he needed to do, which apparently was to stand majestic against the fading light. Reflections of the water rippled over his pearly scales. It should have been sinister, but the bastard had the nerve to look dignified and a touch mysterious.

Perrigaul could not stand the male.

“Do not encourage him,” Perrigaul warned. “He believes he is amusing when he is merely annoying.”

CHAPTER 11

MIRIAM

SHE TOOK IT BACK. Mer’len’s Sunken Palace was amazing. It was as bonkers and out there as any villain’s volcano lair or skull island. Better, because it was real, and she was there.

The company could be better.

“For the last time, it’s not a treasure map,” she snapped. She didn’t know how to make it plainer.

“You must have some idea—”

She held up a hand in warning and pointed a finger at Vasha. His mouth clamped shut. Then she turned her ire to Perrigaul, preemptively, because he looked like he was having too good a time.

His quills went down, and his tail stilled.

Good.

“I need to think, and you two hounding me doesn’t help. So shut it while I work this out.” Miriam sank to the dusty floor and opened the journal. If given her druthers, she’d have plenty of time to read and analyze the contents of Mer’len’s journal before rushing off on a treasure hunt. No use crying over spilled milk. She was here now, and she could figure this out.

“We’re looking for this design.” She turned the book around to show her companions the interlocked rings. “Every time he mentions safeguarding his investment, there’s this symbol.”

“Is it a star chart?” Vasha peered closely at the page until Miriam pulled the book away.

“That would be too easy. Mer’len liked to play with his food,” Perrigaul said. He scratched the back of his neck, thinking.

“It could be a painting, a mural, a statue. Maybe a garden? Like a hedge maze? Is there one here?” She didn’t see one, but it was conceivable there was a garden in an underwater dome or a conservatory. Fancy people liked conservatories, and Miriam figured that was true on every planet.

Sprawling wasn’t exactly the right word to describe the place, but convoluted worked. From the outside, Mer’len’s palace presented as a glittering spectacle, as you would expect. Strung together like pearls, the golden domes contained the towers and spires of a rambling estate. No expense had been spared to ensure that the palace was both grandiose and intimidating.

Inside was all intimidation. The scale of the building was not human. Okay, bad example. Miriam had no idea what alien species Mer’len had been. Judging from the height of the ceilings and the oversized scale of the place, Mer’len was either a giant or wanted his guests to feel tiny because he totally wasn’t overcompensating. Her money was on a guy with a massive ego and inadequacy issues taking it out on everyone else.

Graffiti, neglect, and the elements added layers of misery that didn’t quite obscure what was once grand and opulent.

It was homey, in a decaying, spooky way.

“We should split up to search more quickly,” Vasha said.

“I dislike remaining here a moment more than necessary, but we will stay together, even if that slows our search,” Perrigaul said.

The two exchanged looks and seemed to have a whole conversation with their tails. Neither seemed inclined to include her in the chitchat.

“What’s the rush? We should take our time and do a methodical search,” Miriam said. They had enough supplies on the ship to camp for several days.

“Absolutely not,” Perrigaul said.

“Why? This place is empty. Or are you worried about ghosts? Sea monsters?” She waved a hand at the water dripping from the ceiling to indicate a sea monster vibe. “Are pirates going to raid?”

Vasha laughed. “Where did you find this one? No, we are not concerned with raiders or ghosts. I am concerned about toxic algae and breathable oxygen.”

“Limiting our time here is best,” Perrigaul added. “This place has been abandoned for twenty-five years. The atmosphere is barely adequate. I’m amazed the power still works, but that is generated by turbines. The water is not potable because of algae.”

He produced two masks from his pack and gave one to Miriam. Vasha held out a hand, but Perrigaul ignored it. “You are responsible for your own supplies,” he said, slipping on the mask.

Miriam put on the mask and looked at the room with fresh eyes. They were in an entrance hall. No doubt one of several. This one had a glass-plate dome the color of a tropical ocean. Whether that was the actual ocean or just a trick of clever lighting, Miriam couldn’t say. However, she could definitely say that the joints leaked. Rust streaked the walls. A velvet ribbon of vivid green algae skirted the bottom of the dome.

Twenty-five years was a long time to go without basic maintenance and an underwater structure probably required a lot of upkeep. The domes were under constant pressure. Salt ate away at the exposed bits and pieces. Rust consumed metal. Time and water did the rest.

Perrigaul carried supplies in his pack. She thought they were for camping, but now she understood it was for emergencies. The flood of affection she felt at his preparedness took her by surprise. She didn’t have any snarky comments to add because he was such a good little scout. Okay, maybe she had one or two snarks in her.

“Point taken. Let’s get this show on the road,” she said, rising to her feet and dusting off her pants. It was going to be a long day.

PERRIGAUL

They spent hours searching the Sunken Palace. Just when one section was finished, they discovered a sublevel or a small addition that the printed plans did not include. All maps of the place were hopelessly outdated.

Tomorrow promised to be more of the same. His foot no longer ached, but it did itch from regrowing scales. All in all, sleeping on the floor in the same tiny cabin with the female whose scent he could not get out of his head was about what he could expect for the day: uncomfortable.

“Stop staring at me. I cannot sleep,” he grumbled.

Sharing a cabin was a mistake. The room was too small. There was no escaping Miriam’s scent, her noise, or her discarded clothing. He should have made a nest in the cargo hold.

“I’m thinking,” she said.

“Thinking time is over. Now is the time for sleeping.”

“Are you sure you want to sleep on the floor again? I don’t mind sharing the bed.”

“The floor is adequate.” He’d slept in worse places, but he was not as young as he once was. His back would be stiff in the morning.

She tossed and turned on the mattress, as if unable to get into a comfortable position. “I’m too wound up to sleep. Distract me. Tell me a story.”

Perrigaul rolled onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head. From his spot on the floor, he could see the outline of Miriam’s form on the bed.

“You would not enjoy my stories,” he said.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” The mattress creaked as she rolled over. “Come on. This is like a sleepover, which I never got to do, so let’s do sleepover stuff. It’ll be fun.”

He doubted that, but he found it difficult to deny Miriam anything that brought her pleasure. It was a character flaw.

“Define sleepover stuff,” he said.

“No biggies. We braid each other’s hair, tell ghost stories, gossip about the boys we want to kiss—”

He huffed, amused at her wheedling tone. “Your name has three syllables. Does it have significance?”

“It’s a traditional name and kind of old-fashioned. It means bitter or beloved.”

His tail twitched at that information. “It is a fitting name.”

“You calling me bitter?”

He focused on the shadowy ceiling above him. “The other one. That is what I’m saying.”

He did not have to look at her to feel her blush.

“You are such a flirt, Perrigaul.” She waited a moment, then said, “What about your name? Does it have significance?”

“Of course. I chose the most grandiose name I could think of. It means traveler.”

“What did your parents name you?”

He did not answer immediately. She moved, and the bedframe squeaked in protest.

“Sorry,” she said. “I should know better about deadnames. You chose your name, and it’s a good name. We have a similar name on Earth. Peregrine. It’s a falcon, like a bird of prey, but it also means pilgrim, I think. Maybe a wanderer.”

He found that information comforting but said nothing. She continued, “Fun fact. Peregrine White was the first pilgrim child born on the Mayflower… and you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“My parents did not give me a name,” he said, still staring at the shadowy ceiling. “I do not know anything about them other than they were of the lowest social caste in Nakkon and do not rate having a house or title. Presumably, my mother could not afford another three mouths to feed and abandoned us at an institution.”

“Is that like an orphanage or a foster home?”

The translator chip helpfully suggested possible definitions for those terms, all of which were far more pleasant than the reality of his past. “I think workhouse is a better term.”

“Okay, that’s horrible. If you don’t want to talk about it, I can tell you all about the Mayflower and—”

“They called me Ri,” he said. “My siblings were Ro and Ra. They were nonsense names of no significance. Three-syllable names are for the higher classes, the elite. Ordinary people get by with two. There is no shame in having two. But one? Only the poorest of the poor cannot afford a decent name.”

His hand shook as he spoke. This was why he never thought of his early years. He had been given just enough food to survive, enough of an education to read and write, and little else. Certainly no affection. The only love or loyalty he ever felt was for his clutchmates. As soon as they could, they ran away from the workhouse. They got by begging and stealing. Existence had been nothing but a struggle, cold and miserable.

Miriam’s hand reached down from the bed. She groped around in the dark. “Help me out here,” she whispered.

He reached up, clasping their hands together. She squeezed his hand. He waited for a mocking comment that never came.

“I like Perrigaul. It’s a good name,” she said.

“I just wanted to make the guard’s job difficult with the most complicated name I could think of.”

She laughed lightly. “I believe that about you.”

A comfortable silence fell between them. They had never spoken so long without their conversation dissolving into an argument. It was pleasant. He had never shared that story about himself with anyone, not even Faris. It felt… good. Miriam saw the most vulnerable parts of him, and she didn’t hurt him.

It was so unexpected. Who saw a person’s exposed weak points and said they liked their name?

A female with a soft heart.

He never wanted her to lose that. In that moment, Perrigaul would gladly chase after any fool’s quest she wanted, spend all his credits, and steal the Emperor’s crown if it pleased her.

His two hearts beat for her. No one else.

“Tell me more about the males you want to kiss,” he said, his voice thick and husky.

“Why don’t you come up here and I’ll show you.”

“That bed is not big enough for us both,” he said.

“You really won’t notice.”

He climbed onto the mattress, the bedframe groaning in protest. Stretched out on his side, the bed wasn’t large enough for them both, but he did not care. Miriam’s softness fit against him perfectly.

She reached up, running a finger through his quills. “I like your hair down.”

“Quills,” he corrected.

Her lips twitched in amusement. “The ones on top are coarse, but the ones underneath are really fine.”

“They get in the way.” His quills were a telling feature of his lowly roots. They refused to lie flat and had to be bound back.

“I like them. I like you,” she said.

She liked him. It seemed improbable.

He brushed back the hair from her forehead, enchanted by the silky strands. Why such a female was here with him, he could not say, but he knew enough not to question his good fortune. She was beautiful; that went without saying. Her human elements were intriguing, but what he admired most was her quick mind. She had the capacity to run brilliant schemes and fleece the greedy, but she’d rather chase a bedtime story.

“You’re thinking too loudly,” she said.

“Not possible.”

She wore a sleeveless undershirt and underwear. When he hesitated to touch her exposed flesh, she murmured that he had permission. He stroked her back, running his hands over her smooth skin. There was so much he wanted to see. To taste.

He pushed up the fabric of the shirt, exposing her abdomen. Lick her there? Or the curve of her neck? She smelled sweet behind the ear. Her breasts? Her thighs? Oh, those were intriguing.

For every place he touched, he found another two that demanded attention. Picking where to start seemed impossible.

“How do humans…” He wasn’t sure how to formulate the question.

“How about a kiss? I seem to recall you being pretty good at that,” she said.

Their lips met. She was soft and warm, opening to him. His hearts beat a steady rhythm.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like that?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“Alice.”

CHAPTER 12

PERRIGAUL

THERE WAS A LONG PAUSE. “WHAT NOW?” SHE ASKED.

She pushed at his chest, and he rolled off.

“From observation,” he said. “The Nakkoni do not press their mouths together to express affection.”

At first, he thought the practice to be unhygienic, but he had grown to appreciate the gesture.

“Oh. How do you express affection?” she asked.

“Several ways. A parent will often brush their hand along a child’s jaw spikes. Like this.” He brushed the back of his hand along her jawline.

She mimicked the gesture, smiling. “That’s sweet. What else?”

“Mates,” he said, his throat feeling dry, “stroke their frills.”

“Like this?” Her finger trailed down his neck frill, and a delicious shiver went through him.

She snatched her hand back like she’d hurt him. Far from it.

Perrigaul grabbed her hand and placed it on his neck again. “Just like that. It is very pleasurable.”

Her soft hands had the gentlest touch.

“I want to try something,” she said, leaning in.

Her tongue, warm and smooth, licked his frill.

Perrigaul jolted, nearly falling off the bed.

“Did I do it wrong?” she asked, her eyes wide.

“No. I’ve never… No one’s ever touched me like that.”

“Oh.” She frowned, looking unhappy. “I’m sorry if that was weird. I guess humans like to use their mouths. Well, I do.”

Perrigaul climbed back onto the mattress. He kissed her again, silencing her doubt, and placed a hand on his aching cock. “All your touches are perfect. I was unprepared.”

She hummed and rubbed her hand against his hard member. “Could I see your dick? Is that weird? It’s weird. Who asks that?”

Another kiss.

“You ask that, and yes, I would love to show you.”

He quickly removed his sleep trousers, kicking them to the floor.

His cock stood at attention. The color was magenta, darker at the base and lighter at the tip. It swelled in the middle, and ridges ran along the sides.

“Wow,” Miriam said, her eyes wide. “That’s impressive.”

She flattered him. He knew his physique was average in many regards.

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

He groaned at the idea. Yes, he wanted her to touch him. He also wanted to see her touch herself. Once again, he was burdened with too many fantastic options. This time, however, he knew where he wanted to start.

“Show me how you touch yourself.”

“What? Really?” Her cheeks flushed pink.

He fisted himself, slowly working his hand up the length of his cock. “I’ll show you how I touch myself.”

She nodded, shimmying out of her undergarment. He caught a lovely glimpse of dark hair. The aroma of her desire perfumed the air. With her back to the headboard, she slipped her hand between her legs.

He kneeled at the foot of the bed, working his stem. She gazed up at him, her hand working between her thighs. Whatever she did, she enjoyed herself. Her foot twisted and curled on the bed sheets. He desperately wanted a closer look.

Pleasure tightened at the base of his tail and spine.

His petals opened, curling over his hand.

MIRIAM

Perrigaul’s dick split into three tentacles and wrapped around his hand. That was… unexpected.

Miriam immediately stopped working her clit and moved in for a closer look.

The underside—inside? —of the tentacles was a vivid pink. They were definitely tentacles, complete with little suckers. A viscous white fluid dripped over his fingers. The entire package was weird but in a good way. And the way Perrigaul looked at her, all hunger in his eyes… Yeah. Better than good. Perfect.

“Can I touch you?” she asked.

“You can do anything you want.”

“Oh, anything? How tempting,” she said, her voice low and throaty. She had questions. How long did his penis stay that way? What was the purpose of that? But her desire to touch him trumped her curiosity.

She scooted closer and gently stroked a finger down an open tentacle. The skin was slick and warm. The suction cups started large at the base and diminished in size toward the tips. She ran a finger around the edge of the cup, which clung to her. That would feel so amazing inside her.

The tip of her finger glistened with his seed. She licked it clean. The taste was milder than she expected, not salty and almost sweet.

Perrigaul sucked in a breath.

“Too gross?”

“No. The opposite,” he answered.

Encouraged, she dipped her head down and licked the front tentacle. The tip slipped between her lips and she sucked. His breath shuddered, and more not-salty, almost-sweet fluid leaked. Her hands stroked the other tendrils. His body quivered as she got the hang of moving her mouth and hands together.

Perrigaul pulled away. “I need to taste you.”

He surged forward, pushing her down onto her back. With a growl, he lifted her hips and dove right in. Zero hesitation. She wrapped her thighs around his head, the spikes along his jaw digging into her, but not unpleasantly so.

She reached down, twisting her fingers into his quills. Feathery and soft, they slid between her fingers.

His tongue had a pebbled texture, not too rough, but utterly amazing. He circled and licked her clit, making her eyes roll back in the best way possible. He licked and sucked like a man who needed her, like his survival depended on it.

Her climax barreled down on her, unavoidable and fierce. Her hips jerked, and she tugged on his quills, perhaps pulling too hard.

It was too much.

She cried out his name, her entire body electrified.

Perrigaul pulled her to him, resting her head on his chest. Two heartbeats, one after the other.

For her, he said.

Drowsy and pleasure drunk, she drifted off to sleep listening to how his hearts beat for her.

CHAPTER 13

PERRIGAUL

LIGHTS FLICKERED to life as they entered rooms and fell back into darkness when they departed. Their footsteps echoed down the corridors. For an entire day, they drifted from room to room like ghosts, slept for a few hours on the ship, and repeated the process.

The easily accessible areas had been stripped of anything of value, right down to the wires in the walls. Crumbling plaster and splintered wood covered the floor. If Miriam’s mysterious symbol was a painting or an ornament, it was long gone.

The Sunken Palace was too expansive. A thorough search would take several more days, and Perrigaul did not have the patience. Yes, they needed to make themselves scarce at the settlement. Returning after three days was unacceptable. They needed to remain away for a few more days, but he did not want to spend them at the bottom of the ocean in a toxic, crumbling palace with Vasha.

He wanted to show Miriam sparkling pink sand beaches. He enjoyed the comforts of civilization too much to want to “rough it in nature,” as Miriam called it. The beach offered nothing but sand working its way under his scales and too much water. He’d suffer through the indignities if it pleased Miriam, and he would only complain a little because her eyes shone with mirth when he did so. He was becoming quite fond of her human eyes and her laugh.

“This is a waste of time,” Vasha said loudly, his voice echoing off the walls.

As much as Perrigaul agreed, he refused to admit that out loud, in front of Miriam. That would hurt her feelings and somehow, recently, he became very concerned with her emotional well-being and wanted to please her. It was frustrating.

He disliked not understanding himself.

“Do not speak so loudly. There is no need to announce our presence,” Perrigaul snapped; having a sour attitude was easier than self-reflection. Every little thing about Vasha irritated him. The way he breathed. The way he put both hands on his hips right before he launched into a boast designed.

Two days pushed Perrigaul’s tolerance for the male. The faster they could be done and on a pink beach, the better.

“We are alone,” Vasha said, crunching plaster under his boots.

“Then you take the front and you may greet whatever your clumsiness attracts.”

Vasha brushed his fingers across the blaster on his hip. “Gladly.”

Fantastic. He brought a trigger-happy fool into an unstable, underwater structure.

Two days was long enough for a wild fowl chase, yes? He could not wait to be on a sandy pink beach with Miriam and no Vasha.

As they moved deeper, the graffiti vanished and original furnishings appeared. Dust and mildew tickled his nose. The air stank, and he had scrubbed enough filters to know the filtration system had failed long ago. Unknown toxic mold and mildew grew in the air ducts.

He touched the mask on his face, checking that the seal remained tight. A glance confirmed that Miriam’s mask remained in place.

“Consult the map again,” Vasha said.

Miriam’s entire body went stiff. “It’s not a map. X does not mark the fucking spot. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you it’s a diagram or a symbol. We’re looking for an entrance. A clue. I wish I knew what these numbers meant, though.”

Perrigaul and Vasha stopped in their tracks.

“Numbers?” they asked in unison. Perrigaul shot Vasha a vicious look, but the male looked terrible. What little color he possessed had drained away.

“Yeah, there’s a name and then a six-digit entry. Sometimes more than one, like a list.” Miriam recited a string of numbers. “Is it a code?”

“That is a prisoner identification number,” Perrigaul said.

“I thought the names were guests, not prisoners.” Miriam flipped through a few pages, like she could find the answer.

He knew the disturbing answer. The offworlders who visited Reazus Prime during its prison years were not there to advocate for reform and better treatment of the prisoners. They came for flesh. Fighting. Fucking. The variations on those themes were endless.

As a hatchling, Perrigaul once went to the gladiator arena. He was too young to fight but quick enough to carry equipment. The males fought for better food, better accommodations, sometimes a female, and very rarely a chance to have their prison sentence commuted.

Regardless of the prize, the stands were packed with off-world visitors who craved violence and brutality. As the game day wore on, the crowd demanded more than blood from the gladiators. They wanted death.

Perrigaul could still hear the way the crowd jeered as a gladiator died too quickly for their amusement. A lucky—or unlucky—jab with a dagger severed his artery, and he bled out almost immediately. The crowd demanded value for their money. They demanded entertainment.

He loathed them. Every single vile spectator.

He did not know how to communicate any of this with Miriam. It was too messy and too raw. Reducing prisoners to numbers made it easier to sell them to rich tourists.

Fortunately, Vasha solved the problem. “Mer’len sold prisoners for his guests to abuse. You’re looking at the receipts.”

MIRIAM

“Oh. That’s… that’s disgusting.” Miriam wanted to fling the book away from her and scrub herself clean.

“It is what happened. The past cannot be changed,” Vasha said, keeping his tone casual, but he seemed too casual about it, almost forced. Suspicious, even.

Or traumatized.

Miriam needed to check herself because no one dealt with trauma the same way. Whatever Vasha knew about Mer’len selling people to his guests, it was his choice to share or not.

They entered a long corridor of small rooms, large enough for a bed and little else. After years of abandonment, they were surprisingly tidy. No one had vandalized the rooms or broken the furniture. Water stained the walls. Peering into one of the tiny rooms, the hopelessness was heavy enough to crush her.

“Concubine quarters,” Vasha said. “There is no treasure here.”

Miriam nearly asked if the concubines entertained the guests in the tiny rooms, but Perrigaul laid a hand on her shoulder and softly whispered, “No.”

They moved on. Vasha asked questions about the contents of the vault. She read Mer’len’s entries that cataloged his collection. Some items sounded ludicrous. The Torment Ichor. Really? Ring of Temptation. Okay, fair. Lots of people liked shiny jewelry. The Skull of Seduction. Like, she had so many questions about that. So many.

“I don’t know if any of this is in his vault,” she said. Or if the vault was even real.

“It is,” Vasha said with confidence.

As they moved through the building, Vasha’s familiarity with the place became apparent. Miriam suspected it wasn’t from looting either. He had been there during the bad old days. When they reached the trophy room, he confirmed it.

“Mer’len would only display one or two treasures at a time,” Vasha said. “He didn’t want anything to steal attention away from his latest trinket.”

At the center of the room, directly under an algae-covered dome, was a desiccated corpse in a gilded chair.

Mer’len, she presumed.

In one withered hand, he clutched a pistol. The hole in his forehead solved the mystery of how he died.

Vasha prodded at the body with his own pistol. With a furious roar, he pulled the trigger and shot the body. It jerked and thrashed, tossed around by the force of the blasts. Wrath twisted his face into a nightmare, his anger growing. Destroying Mer’len’s corpse did not seem to give him the satisfaction he craved.

Miriam pressed herself against Perrigaul, hiding her face against his shoulder. Unbidden, he placed a protective arm around her.

“Enough,” he warned.

Vasha gave no indication that he heard Perrigaul, but he stopped shooting. He threw the pistol across the room and kicked the chair, knocking it over and spilling Mer’len’s… pieces… on the floor.

In the silence, her ears rang with echoes of the gunfire.

They stood in a huge room with minimal embellishments. Clusters of giant amethyst crystals were the only decorations, which were practically tasteful compared to the decaying luxury of the rest of the palace. Translucent steps ascended to an equally translucent balcony. More decorative amethysts along the railing, of course, because who needed to use a railing? Miriam pictured the balcony with guests floating above the crowd.

The floor was blue with inlaid gold. Above sat a dome caked with algae growth, obscuring the view. Occasionally, a shadow fell as a large sea creature swam by. The ceiling was blue with holes dug into the plaster. The damage was too regular and evenly spaced to be anything but deliberate.

“What was in the ceiling?” she asked, picking the safe question. Asking Vasha if that had been Mer’len seemed unwise.

“Diamonds,” Vasha answered.

“Wow.”

Perrigaul huffed. “It is a very common gem. I am surprised someone went to the trouble of removing them. The resale is negligible.”

“They’re valuable on Earth mainly because of a controlled market and artificial scarcity and… now is not the time for a lecture,” she said, sensing that neither was listening to her.

She shuffled her feet, stirring up the layer of fallen plaster, dust, and she didn’t really want to think of what else. Watery light spilled across the floor. Even through the mask, her nose itched. Her skin crawled with the need for a shower.

Tarnished metal embedded in the floor caught her eye. She crouched down, brushing away the debris. It was a straight line that crossed the center of the room. No, two intersecting lines. They met under where the chair had sat.

“What are you doing?” Perrigaul asked.

“Can you clear that away?” She made a sweeping motion with her hand and pointed to Mer’len.

Perrigaul did not argue for once. He nudged the largest pieces away with his foot and dragged away the broken remains of the chair. When he cleared the largest debris from the space, he said, “I will touch no more.”

She didn’t reply, too focused on the emerging pattern. No, that was silly…

Heart thudding with excitement, Miriam raced up the stairs.

She opened the journal to the page with the diagram. Yes, it was a match. Holding up the open book, she said, “X marks the spot.”

CHAPTER 14

PERRIGAUL

“IT MAKES sense for the vault to be directly below the trophy room,” Miriam said. “Logistically. It’s just easier. Take one out, put one away. And, you know, the camping over the entrance.”

Perrigaul remained unconvinced. A male that greedy would have fled the planet at the first sign of trouble. Why had he chosen to protect his material possessions at the expense of his life? It made no sense, unless he had not had the opportunity to flee and his body had been positioned in the trophy room as a final act of revenge.

Yes. That made sense.

He and Vasha cleared the floor enough to reveal the entire pattern inlaid into the floor. Mer’len had been moved unceremoniously into a pile at the edge of the room. Vasha worked with unusual concentration, his quills pressed flat against his skull, which made Perrigaul suspicious. He did not like the idea of Vasha thinking. Thinking was one step from plotting and he wasn’t in the mood for surprises.

Miriam walked along the balcony above, her gaze flicking between the book and the floor. He knew she searched for a hint about how to unlock the vault. She would be disappointed. The hand that wrote the journal was cruel and enjoyed making people suffer. While he had not been subjected to the Sunken Palace, he resented the male on principle.

“Open, damn you,” Vasha growled. The male’s tail snapped from side to side behind him, stirring up dust. “We are too close to fail.”

“It is most likely empty,” Perrigaul said. It was unreasonable to expect to find a treasure trove filled with the riches of a hundred planets.

“No, it is here, and I will spend every one of the wretched male’s credits.”

Perrigaul approved of the male’s ambitions. “Whoever placed him here most likely emptied the vault.”

“No,” Vasha said, offering no explanation for his certainty.

Very well.

He crouched down to better examine the star symbol. They were placed around the perimeter of the room at equal intervals. It was not an accurate star chart, but the symbol was real enough.

A sensor embedded into the symbol blinked to life. The tile sank into the floor and clicked into place.

MIRIAM

“A puzzle,” Miriam said. “Like the gates to enter. We have to time it correctly.”

This was big. This was the dramatic moment in every book she read as a kid where the impossible proved to be real. She loved that moment, when the protagonist was correct, and the dollhouse really was haunted.

This ridiculous treasure hunt was real. Really real.

Perrigaul looked up at her from below, the water casting a green hue on his face. “That is unlikely. This will be a puzzle designed to be opened by one male, at his leisure, not a mad dash from point to point.”

“Okay, then a sequence.” She compared the diagram to the design on the floor. Perrigaul said it resembled a star chart, and she took his word for it. There was the X at the center. That had to be the opening. Smaller objects orbited the center, each with a ring to denote its path. Planets? Star systems? She had no way of discerning which were important.

“Process of elimination. Press every star.”

Well, long story short, that failed. Working systematically, they eliminated a dozen combinations that did not work. With six stars, there was only… Yeah, she wasn’t doing the math. A lot. It was a lot. Even longer story short, a trapdoor in the floor opened. Hooray. There was much rejoicing, because tempers were running high and Perrigaul and Vasha seemed to communicate in growls and grunts.

Miriam peered into the darkness. “This feels like a mistake.”

“More treasure for me.” Vasha did not hesitate, shouldering past Miriam and making her stumble.

Perrigaul caught her by the elbow. “Do not fall.”

“I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“I am aware.” His touch lingered. He looked as if he wanted to share a secret. She leaned in, willing to accept a secret or a kiss. A kiss would be nice. Instead, he said, “We should follow before Vasha robs us.”

From below, “Too late.”

Perrigaul grabbed a lantern and descended. “Be alert. The steps are steep.”

With one hand on the wall, she slowly made her way to the bottom. The stairs emptied into an underwater tunnel. The air was cold. Condensation fogged and dripped along the tunnel, blocking what should have been a majestic view. Rings of pale blue light flickered to life in the distance, indicating that the lights were motion-activated.

“We should not let Vasha get too far ahead,” Perrigaul said.

The tunnel brought them to a heavy door with a security pad. Vasha’s tail twitched aggressively from side to side.

“Open this,” he said, turning to Perrigaul.

“That unit is a biometric lock. We require Mer’len’s handprint or eye.”

Miriam gagged at the thought of going back for Mer’len’s desiccated old hand. “Neither of those is in usable condition. Also, gross.”

“Perhaps if the hand is soaked in a solution—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. No. Nope. All the nope,” she said.

Vasha shoved Perrigaul toward the lock. “You are the one who is good with locks. Any lock can be broken.” His voice took on a mocking tone like he was throwing an old conversation in Perrigaul’s face. She admired the pettiness of it, but Vasha’s agitation unnerved her.

“Can you open it?” she asked.

Perrigaul examined the security panel. “This model was cutting edge twenty-five years ago. It was thought to be impossible to break.”

“So no.” Her shoulders slumped. Disappointment was natural, right? They were so close. After two days of searching through this abandoned house of horrors, Mer’len’s treasure was literally on the other side of this door. This was exactly the kind of adventure she dreamed about when she was a kid stuck in bed, albeit with kissing.

She glanced at Perrigaul, then down at his tail and that whole situation going on there, then back to his face before he caught her checking out his butt.

His quills rose slowly, because of course he noticed. He noticed everything. “An unbreakable lock on a planet full of criminals? Barely an inconvenience.”

He removed the panel, exposing wires and circuits. Using a tool kit from his bag, Perrigaul did his magic, and it was sort of hot, in a criminal way. That was a thought she never thought she’d… think. Was there enough oxygen down here?

He worked with confidence, and honestly, being competent was hot. Sure, he was skilled at breaking a lock, but she knew he was a thief and an all-purpose lawbreaker. Zero surprises, so why couldn’t she take her eyes off him? Why were his hands so interesting?

And the biggest question of all: where had he learned to do that thing with his tongue? Because wow. She grew hot thinking about last night in their cabin.

There was a bright spark, then the tunnel plunged into darkness. The lantern at Perrigaul’s feet cast the only light, sending sinister shadows across his face. Within seconds, the door slid open.

Miriam blinked at the sudden light.

“You are too slow.” Vasha shoved Perrigaul out of the way.

On the other side was a dock, much like the one they used upon arrival, with a single ship encased in a golden energy sphere. Solar sails were folded neatly along the ship’s body. A small orb sat on a pedestal in front of the ship. The shimmering energy sphere made the ship seem like it was a relic out of time. Water lapped at the platform’s edge and washed against the energy field.

“Is this it?” Vasha removed the orb from the pedestal. “Where’s the treasure?”

“I don’t think—” Miriam started to say.

Vasha spun on his heel, whipping around to face her. “What? What do you think, human?”

“This is an escape hatch,” she said, opening the journal. “I must have misunderstood when he talked about his legacy and his—”

“This is your fault. You and your book! We wasted days and credits on your silly treasure hunt for what? This trinket!”

Vasha threw the orb. Miriam flinched, holding up the journal to shield herself.

Perrigaul reached out and caught it with one hand. He considered the object, then handed it to Miriam. “Control yourself, Vasha. This is an unexpected outcome, but you knew the risk.”

“I am not interested in antique ships.”

The two bickered, ignoring Miriam.

The orb was fascinating. From a distance, it was a teal-colored hunk of crystal. Up close, she saw the fine lines carved into the crystal. It was not a single piece. Symbols, a jumble of clockwork gears and dials in gold, covered the orb. The parts demanded to be twisted and turned like a puzzle piece.

So she did.

Twisting to the right, the two halves of the orbs moved easily.

The shield surrounding the ship vanished. Vasha only had eyes for the ship. Perrigaul, of course, had eyes on the orb.

“Is this a key?” she asked.

Perrigaul took the orb and inspected it closely. “I believe so. Such devices are used as a master control for an interconnected system.”

Like the shielding around a ship.

“Press another button,” Vasha ordered. “Open the ship.”

“I would not presume to waste your time. You are interested in treasure and credits, not antique ships,” Perrigaul said.

“The ship can be sold if it still functions. It’s good for parts, if nothing else.”

Perrigaul handed the orb back to Miriam. “You do the honors.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Yes, but I enjoy watching your mind at work.”

She tensed, waiting for the punchline. None came. “Thank you. That’s sweet.”

“You get a little line here.” He poked his finger between her eyes. “Your thoughts make your skin wrinkle. It is fascinating.”

“Okay, less sweet,” she muttered, turning her attention to the orb. The crystal glowed from within. The golden decorations gleamed in the light, completely free of rust or any signs of neglect. It looked freshly polished, despite having been locked away in a damp, humid environment for twenty-five years or more.

Engraved lines crisscrossed the surface, but they appeared broken and incomplete. She twisted the orb, the lines forming new symbols and meanings. The images flickered and danced in her vision as the implanted translator tried to do its job. She blinked, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t know. There are symbols, but the translator chip is struggling.”

Twisting the orb again, gears clicked, and symbols realigned. She continued, turning one bit, sliding in another, until she formed the X that marked the location of the entrance to the tunnel. She pushed. The button put up a token amount of resistance before it gave way.

A hatch opened and the ship ramp lowered to the dock.

“See, wrinkly skin. Nothing better.” Perrigaul pulled her into an embrace and kissed the spot between her eyebrows. It happened so quickly that Miriam didn’t have time to enjoy it or protest or even decide how she felt about it before he released her and followed Vasha onto the antique ship.

She touched her wrinkly spot, the skin still damp, and grinned.

CHAPTER 15

PERRIGAUL

THE SHIP WAS A MARVEL. It was every fanciful desire and wish made real. Nights he tried to sleep with an empty belly, he dreamed of the kind of riches that bought security. When fear kept him awake, he imagined a life where he could buy the strongest and best weapons and would never have to be afraid again. Boots to keep his feet warm. Enough food to feed his clutchmates.

His chest ached at the memory. He pushed the memory away. It was so long ago, it did not matter. They probably never thought of him, if they even survived into adulthood. How odd that the smallest of the clutch, the slow one caught and sentenced to life on a prison planet, was the one to survive.

And now had a treasure ship.

Perrigaul walked past shelves cluttered with priceless artifacts. Crates on the floor were packed to the brim, the contents spilling out onto the floor. For a male who carefully cataloged his collections and diligently recorded his extortion, the ship’s interior was sloppy.

Done in haste, he concluded.

“Mer’len attempted to flee,” Perrigaul said.

“He obviously didn’t make it,” Miriam replied. “Why wasn’t this looted? You know what, silly question. No one knew. He must have been caught above and kept his mouth shut about his escape ship loaded with loot.”

“This is the logical conclusion. Some items above were looted by scavengers. He must have been interrupted while loading the ship. Sometimes it is wiser to accept a smaller share of the profit than hold out for more and lose everything.” He learned that the hard way. Although the ship held enough riches to finance a luxurious life several times over.

“Am I a bad person because I’m kind of happy his greed got him in the end? Like, he could have left with all this, but he had to go back for one last thing and it cost him his life. Classic villain move,” Miriam said.

“You could not be a bad person if you tried,” he answered with honesty.

She smiled, her entire face alight with happiness, and she outshone every treasure on the ship. Her delight filled him with a simple joy, the kind that had always eluded him. That was the moment his second heart beat for her, choosing Miriam as his mate.

He cleared his throat, speaking before Miriam could say something emotional and meaningful and ruin the uncomplicated moment. “Let us see if the orb is the ignition key to the ship.”

A deep red stone set in a silver circlet caught his eye. A flaw ran vertically through the center of the cut stone, giving it the appearance of an unblinking eye. Lifting the circlet from the shelf, the gem flashed in the light.

The Eye of Nakkon was a myth, the legendary crown of Nakkoni emperors, lost for centuries. Such an object never existed, but what Perrigaul held in his hands made him believe that the myth could be true. This could be the Eye of Nakkon.

“What have you got?” Miriam asked.

He waved for her to come closer. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said, placing the circlet on her head.

It fit snugly, pushing down her wispy brown hair. The red gem rested in the center of her forehead, like a third eye.

She touched the circlet. “How does it look?”

“Like you have armies at your command. Like your mystical third eye can peer into my soul and divine my secrets. Like—”

“Not silly?” she asked, cutting off his verbosity.

“Regal,” he answered, because she looked like a queen. His queen.

They found the helm, a cramped room with enough space for a small crew. The orb slotted into place. Consoles and screens flickered to life.

Vasha burst into the cramped room, holding a bottle and three glasses. “I found the wine cooler. Can I interest you in a very expensive, very rare vintage to celebrate our good fortune?”

“Yes, let’s celebrate,” Miriam said without hesitation.

Perrigaul eyed the unopened bottle.

“So distrustful,” Vasha tutted, handing the bottle to him for inspection.

The seal was unbroken. “Very well,” Perrigaul said, returning the bottle. “A small drink.”

Vasha made a small production of opening the wine and pouring. Miriam accepted her glass.

Perrigaul sniffed the contents.

“Suspicious?” Vasha asked.

Yes, highly, but he couldn’t smell anything out of place in the alcohol. “I am curious what a male like Mer’len stocked,” he replied smoothly.

“A toast,” Vasha said, holding his full glass aloft. The dark burgundy liquid seemed to absorb the light. “To unlikely partnerships and getting what you have coming.”

Vasha downed his glass quickly and threw the glass to the ground with a gleeful shout. “And I have a fortune coming to me!”

Miriam followed his example, draining the glass and flinging it to the ground. “Oh, that was fun. Was that glass worth a lot? Am I the awful kind of rich person who wastes money now? That happened fast. I’m out of touch with the little people now.” She placed a hand on her chest as her words took on a comedic tone.

Perrigaul swallowed his in one gulp but refrained from destroying his glass. He saw no point in it. The wine had a pleasant burn but an odd aftertaste. It coated his throat, making him cough.

Vasha pulled out a vial of milky white fluid. “Now I’ll ask you nicely to get off my ship,” he said, “and you can have the antidote. Or I can wait and drag your corpse off. Your call.”

MIRIAM

Poisoned. A bitter aftertaste clung to her tongue.

“Night Mother?” Perrigaul asked way too calmly as they exited the ship. “The glasses. You distracted me with the unopened wine.”

“Nothing personal. I did warn you that I would leave you at the bottom of the ocean,” Vasha said. “You have about five minutes before your vision starts to blur and your hearts will beat erratically.”

“We had an agreement. A share in the profits and a bonus for our safe return.”

Why was Perrigaul acting like this was a negotiation and Vasha could be reasoned with?

“Heart failure normally occurs in ten minutes,” Vasha informed them. “It is not the worst way to go. Other poisons are so messy with vomiting blood and other leaking fluids. This is a kindness, because I like Miriam.”

“You like me?” She laughed, too sharp and frantic. “You have a hell of a way of showing it.”

“While I enjoy speaking with you, time is wasting,” Vasha said.

Miriam rolled the orb in her hands. They didn’t have a choice, did they? She moved to hold out the orb when Perrigaul grabbed her wrist.

“Wait,” he said. “You will give us the antidote in exchange for the orb?”

“That’s the deal,” Vasha answered.

“The other ship, so that we may return to the surface and the antidote for the orb.”

“No.”

“Do not be unreasonable,” Perrigaul said. “There is enough on Mer’len’s ship that you will not notice the loss.”

“Oh, I’ll feel the loss. I’ve a pair of sentimental hearts.” Vasha tapped his chest once on each side, presumably the locations of his hearts. “You are not in a position to negotiate. How is your vision? Are the lights getting blurry?”

Miriam blinked. Were the lights getting blurry, or was that stress?

“Give the orb to Vasha. It is not worth our lives,” Perrigaul said.

“Roll it to me.”

She followed instructions and rolled the orb across the floor toward Vasha. Grinning madly, he dashed up the ship’s retracting ramp.

“Vasha!” Perrigaul barked.

“Relax,” he said, tossing the vial to Perrigaul.

“A pleasure,” Vasha said. “I’ll let Miriam keep the crown because it suits her.”

Perrigaul unscrewed the top and instructed her to drink half. The antidote was chalky and unpleasantly thick, like glue.

“You are good company, human Miriam. Come with me,” Vasha said. “Mer’len’s treasure ship is only the beginning. Don’t you want to see it for yourself?”

“Not offering me a cut of the loot? Or more crowns?” Miriam folded her arms over her chest, unimpressed.

His quills flexed up and down. “You do not strike me as the kind of hunter who is concerned with credits. You hunt for knowledge.”

“How flattering, but get stuffed. I’m not going anywhere with you.” The thrill of the treasure hunt, though, was tempting.

Perrigaul cleared his throat.

Not tempting enough for her to abandon her friend, though.

“That is a shame. I take no pleasure from this.” Vasha drew his blaster, pointing it directly at Miriam. “You are coming with me.”

No one spoke. Water lapped against the dock, filling the silence.

Miriam turned on Perrigaul, jabbing a finger at him. “You said we could trust him!”

“Incorrect. I said he was predictable,” he said.

“So you knew this was going to happen?”

Perrigaul took a long moment to answer. “I feel as if there is no correct response to that.”

Miriam threw her hands up in frustration. “I feel like you’re not appropriately concerned.”

“I am concerned.”

“Well, I am bored,” Vasha said, interrupting their moment. “On the ship, female.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? You already poisoned me and then unpoisoned me, so I really don’t think you want to hurt me. It might hurt my resale value,” she snapped.

Vasha’s tail twitched, but he did not correct her. He lowered the ship’s ramp.

“You are too greedy,” Perrigaul said. “Do not fall into this trap or you will lose everything.”

Like Mer’len, captured, murdered, and his body on display to humiliate him.

Vasha swung the blaster from Miriam to Perrigaul. He said, “Get on the ship or I shoot your male. It will be no hardship.”

“We can’t leave him,” she pleaded.

“He is a resourceful male. He will find a way,” Vasha said.

Miriam shook her head. “With no food and no water? I don’t know about you, lizardman, but a human can only survive a few days without water.”

“Do not worry about me, my heart,” Perrigaul said, utterly calm, like being betrayed and left behind in a palace at the bottom of the ocean was a regular occurrence.

She didn’t know what to do. Fear and panic made it difficult to think. Her heart was racing, and she didn’t know if that was panic or the poison. Could she trust that the guy who poisoned her gave her the antidote? Nope. All she had to go on was the knowledge that Vasha was fundamentally greedy. He wouldn’t kill her when he could make a profit off her.

She closed her eyes and counted to seven. That was all the time she would allow for fear and panic.

They were alone. Miriam had no idea how far they were from the surface. Vasha had control of the ships. If she left with Vasha, she’d be safe for a time. Perrigaul would have no food, no water, and no way to reach the surface. Mold and mildew were everywhere.

Assets? Zilch. All she had was the journal, now useless, and a lingering chalky taste in her mouth.

Oh, and a ruby crown, for all the good it did her. When Vasha murdered them, she’d look majestic, and her crown-wearing skeleton would confuse future archaeologists.

Right, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d take the crown.

“Okay,” she said, opening her eyes. “I’ll go with you if you promise not to hurt Perrigaul.”

“A wise choice,” Vasha said.

Miriam moved to the ramp. Perrigaul grabbed her arm. He said nothing, but she understood the message in his vivid green eyes.

Do not be foolish. Do what you must to survive.

“I will,” she whispered, before pulling away.

Vasha clamped a hand on her shoulder when she reached the hatch. She shook off his touch.

“If you manage to make it out of here alive, I’d tell you to look me up, but I will be far too wealthy to deal with peasants.” Vasha laughed as the hatch closed.

CHAPTER 16

PERRIGAUL

PERRIGAUL WATCHED THE SHIP SUBMERGE. Golden lights moved under the water as the ship exited the enclosure and took his mate away.

Rotza.

Miriam made the correct decision. He could not fault her, but that did not ease the pain in his hearts as she willingly marched up the ramp.

Not willingly. Coerced.

Vasha was correct about one thing: Perrigaul was a resourceful male. He had no food, no water, but he had a pack full of equipment and a few days to work before he grew too weak.

He would not give up. He would find his mate and claim her properly. His hearts beat for her.

First, he needed to determine if Vasha unloaded any cargo from his other ship. Having his hovercycle to break down for parts would make his life easier.

No such luck. Vasha, greedy until the end, used the autopilot function and recalled his ship.

New plan. He noticed a transmission tower as they descended to the Sunken Palace. The equipment was likely long gone, but perhaps he could do something with his comm unit.

Perrigaul began the long trek.

MIRIAM

“Sit,” Vasha ordered, shoving her into a chair. “Behave or I will cuff you.”

Of course, she had no plans to behave. She needed to turn the ship around and get Perrigaul. They just left him to die, and she never got to tell him how much she cared for him. Loved him. Yeah, the knowledge hadn’t exactly crept up on her. She’d been attracted to him almost immediately, but she hadn’t been brave enough to admit it.

Now that he was gone, left behind…

Life was too short and unpredictable to let fear keep her from what she wanted.

“What are you planning to do with me?” she asked.

They were back at the helm. Vasha focused on the controls, doing whatever it was he did to make his getaway. He said, “If you are good, nothing. Human females are quite prestigious. You will assist me in selling my merchandise.”

“I’m not a shop assistant.”

“Do you think we will set up a tent and sell our wares at a market?” His tone was incredulous, like she’d asked the most boneheaded question in existence.

Miriam blushed at his tone, embarrassed for some unknown reason. She didn’t care what he thought about her. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

There. That showed him.

“The kind of buyer we want is only interested in buying from people who don’t need credit. That sort believes it is uncivilized to discuss such matters,” he said.

She mulled that over. “You need me to make you look wealthy.”

“Yes. I do admire you, female. Please do nothing that will make me harm you. I would regret how that would damage our friendship.”

“The backstabbing already took care of that.”

He grinned. The bastard grinned.

“What about Perrigaul? I can’t believe you just left him to die.”

“That male has slithered his way out of tighter spots. I am not concerned.”

Vasha would know all about slithering.

Miriam folded her arms over her chest. She wasn’t sulking. She was thinking. This was her thinking pose.

Whatever baloney Vasha was selling, she wasn’t buying. Perrigaul needed her help, and the farther away they got, the harder that would be.

She scanned the helm. Electronics packed the room. Lights blinked. Things made pleasing beeps and chiming noises. She could send a message to Faris if she could figure out what doodad was the phone and how to use it.

Which she couldn’t do with Vasha in the room.

“I’m thirsty,” she said.

“You are fine.”

“I was poisoned, and now I’ve got this taste in my mouth and it’s horrible. I need water,” she said, pitching her voice at maximum annoyance.

“No.”

“If you’re trying to convince me you’re not the bad guy, you’re doing a terrible job.”

“I am not the bad guy. I am an enterprising spirit.”

“Enterprising spirits don’t bogart the water.” She stood. “I’ll go get it myself. I bet there’s a fridge in every room.”

“Remain seated or I will strap you to the chair,” he said. “I will retrieve your water, and you will cease complaining.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep from grinning. Vasha thought that was complaining? He had no idea.

Once he left, she jumped up from the chair and tried to figure out what buttons to push to make a call. The design was not user-friendly. There were no helpful universal symbols like on the signage at an airport. And, seriously, how were airport bathroom signs more universally accessible than a spaceship? If this was a spaceship.

“Computer, I need to send a message,” she said, having no better idea.

No screen magically glowed to life.

Fine. Everything had to be complicated. The universe couldn’t give her a break and magic up a phone.

Slapping the console in frustration worked, though, and activated a screen.

Fantastic. Now to figure out how to call 911.

Amber text glowed on black but she didn’t have time to figure it out before Vasha returned. She leaned against the console, blocking the screen with her body.

Vasha narrowed his eyes. “You were instructed to remain in your seat.”

“Stomach cramp,” she said, rubbing her abdomen. “Sometimes standing up helps. Thanks, by the way.”

She accepted the bottle of water and took a sip. Swishing it around her mouth to rinse away the chalky aftertaste, she swallowed. Her stomach immediately protested.

“This is water, right?” she asked.

“Yes, it is water.”

“Is it contaminated? How old is it?” She inspected the lid for mold, then sniffed. It seemed fine.

“It is not contaminated.”

“Did you test it? Scan it with a—” She waved her free hand. “With a thing?”

“Yes.”

She narrowed her eyes. He narrowed his in return.

“Are you just saying that to shut me up?” she asked.

“It is a twenty-year-old sealed bottle of water I found in a cooling unit. If you do not want to drink it, you can wait until we return to the Hazard.”

“Like I’d trust anything from you ever again.” Giving him some world-class side-eyes, she took another sip. The cold water tasted wonderfully of nothing.

Her stomach gurgled.

Miriam dropped the bottle and doubled over, clutching her stomach.

“Female, what is wrong?” Vasha held out his hands like he was afraid to touch her.

“My stomach hurts.” It didn’t. Well, much. She wasn’t much of an actress, but Miriam had spent a lot of time being nauseous and didn’t have to stretch her acting chops too far to put on a convincing show. She slumped to the floor, curling into a ball, and groaned.

“What did you do to me?” she wailed.

“Female, cease this.”

Miriam moaned.

“This is not amusing.”

Vasha stood above her, twisting his hands in helplessness.

She coughed, then gagged with dry heaves. Could she make herself vomit on command? Probably not, but Vasha didn’t know that.

“I’m sick,” she rasped. When that did not garner an immediate reaction, she added, “From the poison.”

“You were given the antidote, and Night Mother does not have this effect.”

“But did you test it on a human?”

He was quiet for a moment. “No, I have not,” he said.

“I need a doctor.”

Certain that he would call her bluff, she groaned loudly. She clutched her stomach and flopped onto her back. With her eyes screwed closed, she rolled from side to side. “Does this place have a first aid kit? There has to be something.”

“There is not.”

“Anything. Carbonated soda? That sometimes helps.” She didn’t ask for much. She just needed him to leave the helm for a minute, so she could send a distress call. How she’d deal with the pirates or bandits who answered was a problem for the future.

Vasha crouched down next to her.

“I’m sick,” she insisted, even as she sensed the jig was up.

“What is the point of this display?”

Yeah, busted.

“Fine.” She scrambled back into her seat and crossed her arms in a sulk. Whatever. “My stomach does hurt, for the record. It’s delicate. I was really sick as a kid, and my constitution is fragile,” she said, repeating what her mother often told her. She hadn’t believed it then, and she didn’t believe it now. For good measure, she added, “My immune system’s already working overtime with all the alien pollen and allergens.”

“I have heard that humans are primitive and uncivilized. Not that they are fragile and delicate. Now remain quiet or I will muzzle you.”

She believed him.

The ship surfaced. The screen showed clear blue skies and no sign of land.

She had to do something. The farther they got from the Sunken Palace, the less chance Perrigaul had to survive. If she could incapacitate Vasha, then she could turn the ship around…

Glancing around the helm, she didn’t see any obvious weapons. She lacked the raw strength to beat Vasha in a fair fight, but she wasn’t above cheating. One good whack to the back of the head would do it, but she’d need something sturdy and easy for her to swing. A baseball bat would be perfect, but she’d settle for a convenient flower pot or lamp. Bashing people over the head was not a subtle business.

“You are scheming. Stop it,” he said.

Fine. Knocking him out wouldn’t work.

“What do I have to do to convince you to go back for Perrigaul?” she asked. “I’m willing to make a deal. I’ll do anything.”

His quills raised.

“Almost anything,” she added quickly.

“Why are you so concerned about that male? He is not your mate. His hearts may beat for you, but you have no such bond. You may walk away and find a more suitable mate.”

“Like you?”

Vasha laughed. “I am a wealthy male. I would be a good mate to you, Miriam.”

Miriam wrinkled her nose at the thought.

Eww. Not going to happen.

“Perrigaul’s my friend, and you don’t leave friends behind.” He was a lot more than just a friend to her, but she wasn’t going to explain that to Vasha.

When I see him again, I’m going to tell him how much I love him. First thing.

“You will continue to be a problem unless I agree to retrieve that male,” Vasha said.

“Basically.”

“He would not try so hard to save you. That one would cut his losses and move on to another female.”

Miriam leaned back in the chair and folded her arms over her chest. She knew a lie when she heard it. “You don’t know him.”

“And you do? What do you know of Perrigaul?”

“Enough,” she said. She didn’t need to know his entire history to know he was a decent person. Morally gray, absolutely. Flexible when it came to concepts of property ownership, sure. But decent for all that.

“He will not perish immediately,” Vasha said, sounding reluctant. “If you behave, we will retrieve your Perrigaul in three days.”

“Two.”

“A Nakkoni can survive four days without water. It is not a pleasant experience, but it is doable. Three days,” he said, his tone final. They were negotiating, and he knew he had the upper hand.

“Define ‘if I behave.’”

“When we are in public, you will wear what I give you, do as I say, and you will not talk back. You will be meek, and you will be quiet.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Miriam gave Vasha a long look. She couldn’t trust him to keep his word, but she didn’t see that she had any other choice. “Deal.”

Three days. That had to be enough.

PERRIGAUL

The transmission tower was an insult. Every useful piece of equipment had been stripped, as he predicted. Still, the external equipment remained. His comm unit was too weak to reach the surface on its own, but perhaps he could amplify the signal.

Building a communication unit was vastly different from breaking a security system. There were dozens of ways to break electronics, and dozens more to confuse them or coax them into doing what they should not.

There was only one way to make this work. If he failed, there would be no second chance.

The circuit briefly glowed with life, then died.

“Rotza,” he snarled, tossing the soldering tool across the room. It clattered against the far wall. For good measure, he added a human swear, “Fuck.”

The top of the transmission tower was a sphere, made of a pressure-resistant, transparent material. He was in a bubble at the highest point of the Sunken Palace, surrounded by the murky sea.

He was also exhausted. Hunger was an old companion, albeit one he had not experienced for some years. Thirst was less comfortable. His mouth felt like sand and his tongue was heavy.

Time was running out. He closed his eyes—only for a moment—to consider his options. The unit worked. It required a power source.

He emptied the contents of his pack onto the floor, despite having done this several times before. Perhaps seeing them again would spark an idea.

He had a medical kit. Useless. A hammer. Unfortunately, he had little to smash at the moment. A small kit with various tools. A utility knife with an energized blade. That might work, but he might need the tool.

He set it aside as an option.

The last item was a reading tablet with a busted screen. Last month, he purchased it cheap from a traveling merchant and intended to repair it as a gift for Miriam. He had been carrying it around, waiting for the correct part. The supply chain left much to be desired. The market was very much a feast or famine situation. An ink screen should not be difficult, but the small size made it unusual.

The battery worked perfectly well and would be much easier to replace. Still, he was reluctant because the device was meant for Miriam.

She would tell him not to be sentimental and to do what he must.

With a sigh, Perrigaul cracked open the case to scavenge the battery.

With a stable power source, the communication unit he cobbled together worked. The transmission range would be short and he could do little more than send a general distress signal, but it was done.

Perrigaul leaned against the wall, cradling the comm unit in his lap. All he had to do was wait.

Hours later, the device cracked with static, waking him from a fitful sleep.

A smug voice said, “It seems you need a ride. May I offer my services?”

CHAPTER 17

PERRIGAUL

THE KHARGAL FROM THE TRAIN. THE TOURIST.

“You,” Perrigaul said.

“It is me,” the Khargal agreed. “Imagine my surprise at receiving your distress signal.”

“Why are you here?” Perrigaul knew he shouldn’t question this turn of good fortune. Rescue was rescue. The distress signal was weak, and he was lucky anyone was nearby to respond. But this male? It was highly suspicious.

“Your female dropped an intriguing map. I wished to return it. Where is Miriam? I wish to speak with her.” The communicator distorted his voice, but his smugness came through just fine.

Perrigaul growled. “Her name is not for you to speak.”

The bastard laughed. Laughed.

“You stole the map to follow us,” Perrigaul accused.

“You left in a hurry. Items were misplaced.”

“Your lackeys fired at us. You threatened my mate.” His words came out in a snarl. He had not admitted that out loud yet.

He liked it.

“Look, I know we had a bit of a miscommunication the last time we spoke. Luxanya was… enthusiastic and disobeyed my orders. She is no longer in my employ,” the Khargal replied. “No hard feelings.”

Oh, Perrigaul had hard feelings about it, but he didn’t have a lot of options. Every moment he wasted bickering was a moment that Miriam got farther away. He said, “Very well. I accept your assistance.”

“Excellent.” Ari’s voice crackled with static. “I’m sure you’ll find my fees reasonable, considering the alternative.”

“Suffocating,” Perrigaul muttered quietly.

Ari must have heard that because he replied, “Indeed. Most unpleasant. But that is not your only concern, is it? The body can survive without nourishment for some time, but it will expire quickly without water. How much drinking water did you bring with you? Ironic how you are surrounded by water, but none of it—”

“Tell me your price,” Perrigaul said, speaking over Ari.

“Not much. I want a share in Mer’len’s treasure.”

Perrigaul nearly disconnected the call. The male wanted a bedtime story, and he did not have the energy to argue. He was tired, hungry, and thirsty. The poison, while neutralized, left him foggy at the edges and slow. He said, “Twenty-five percent.”

“Seventy-five.”

Outrageous. “Thirty-seventy.”

“Where is the delightful female? What does she think of my offer?”

“Your offer to rob us?”

There was no reason to delay the inevitable. The male would learn the truth soon enough. Perrigaul said, “We were betrayed by our associate, and she was taken hostage.”

“Ah.” There was a pause. “So this is not a simple distress call. I’m afraid the price has gone up.”

This male irritated him like sand under his scales.

“I do not have Mer’len’s treasure. It is not here. You are bartering for a share of nothing,” Perrigaul said.

Over the audio, the Khargal hummed. “You would not fight me so enthusiastically if it truly was a share of nothing.”

It was so much currency. His heart constricted at the thought of having such a fortune snatched from his grasp. He’d never have to salvage space junk again. Faris might be content to salvage for the rest of his days, but Perrigaul missed the rush of a well-planned heist. He’d pick and choose his job, stealing enough to keep his claws in the game. Perhaps he’d specialize in relics or items of historical interest rather than monetary value.

None of that mattered without Miriam. Let the greedy Khargal take all the treasure. Perrigaul would happily shift through junk for the rest of his days if it meant having her back.

“Forty-sixty,” Perrigaul said. “If that is not good enough, I will wait for the next treasure hunter. This is a popular destination.” His words were all bravado, and they both knew it. Unless another band of explorers—looters—arrived in the next two days, Perrigaul would perish.

“Forty-sixty,” the Khargal agreed. “I believe that is worth the effort. Sending a vehicle now. Are you able to meet it at the dock, or do you require assistance?”

“I’ll be there,” Perrigaul said.

“My name is Ari, since we’re partners now. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I am—”

“Oh, I know who you are, Perrigaul.”

This was a mistake, but he didn’t have a choice. He had to get Miriam back.

MIRIAM

Why was it always gold bikinis with these guys? To be fair, it was a gold halter top. The skirt was practically nothing, just a scarf tied low on her hips. The beaded necklace provided more coverage.

Miriam plucked at the heavy necklace, lifting it for a moment’s reprieve. It pressed across her shoulders and collarbones like it had a mission to smother her.

The cuff bracelet on her wrist caught the light, the jewels twinkling. She wore anklets on each foot that jingled when she walked. Of course, she still wore the Eye of Nakkon.

She had been decked out with an obscene amount of jewelry. Vasha certainly believed that more was more.

“You would be more attractive if you smiled, female,” a Nakkoni male said. His scales were an orange-red, almost copper color.

Miriam peeled back her lips into a horrid smile. The coppery man chuckled, then patted her on her head like a dog. She swatted at his hand.

A brown-skinned woman followed behind the coppery man, wearing a sleeveless white dress. She did not appear to be thrilled to be there. When Miriam tried to catch her eye, she looked away.

“This one requires training,” the coppery man said.

“Behave, Mimi,” Vasha said. “Do I need to activate the cuffs?”

One more day.

Miriam breathed in deeply. She could do this.

She dipped her head like a submissive little human. That didn’t stop her from glaring at him from beneath her lashes.

“Sit,” Vasha ordered.

She scowled at him but slowly moved to her knees. She couldn’t say anything because the bastard would muzzle her. Perrigaul needed her to get through this day, and if that meant holding her tongue and leaving her with only body language as a means of communication, so be it.

“Good female,” Vasha said, rewarding her with another pat on the head.

They were on a disused drilling platform in the ocean, repurposed as a casino, as far as Miriam could tell. The ceiling was glass and wrought iron and let in an impressive amount of tropical sunlight. The decor was over-the-top with black marble and expensive gilded mirrors that people assumed were classy but were extraordinarily tacky.

Tacky was a good description for the place. It was like being trapped in the most 80s of bathrooms.

After making her devil’s deal with Vasha, he parked the treasure ship in a secret location, hauled over a few trinkets to his ship, and sold a few baubles at a shop that could be generously described as shady. Each subsequent stop grew a little more respectable. Reazus Prime wasn’t big on banking. All transactions were credit tokens.

Today, they were in the fanciest spot yet.

One more day.

Tomorrow they’d go back for Perrigaul. They were already a day late, but Vasha claimed a Nakkoni didn’t need that much water. Perrigaul was alive, if thirsty.

Tomorrow, he swore.

If Vasha went back on his word, she’d kill him. The details were fuzzy on how. A knife across the throat? That seemed fast but gruesome. Poison? Poetic, but she needed access to poison. A blaster shot to the head would do it.

Hopefully she’d never have to work out the details.

The decision came too easily—how could she just decide to take a life?—and that worried her. She didn’t know if this place was shaping her into the kind of person who woke up and chose violence, or if she had been that way all along. Iced lattes, nature hikes, and organic farmer markets keep the monster inside her at bay. Or at least too doped up on caffeine and serotonin to plot how to murder a two-timing crook.

Miriam watched Vasha as he talked up the latest sucker— er, buyer. Dressed in his own ridiculously flashy outfit, Vasha blended in perfectly with the crowd, and not in a good way. Everyone was too loud and too showy. They wore their wealth in jewelry, expensive clothes, and spent for the sole purpose of being seen spending money.

This was why he needed her. Trotting her around on a leash like a pet proved his wealth with the most expensive bauble of all: a human woman.

A server arrived carrying a tray of drinks. Vasha accepted his with a nod. The coppery man handed his tumbler to the woman at his side.

She sniffed the amber liquid and sipped. After waiting ten seconds, she handed the glass to the man. He barely looked at her; instead, he pointed to the spot next to Miriam and ordered her to sit.

They sat at a table with a card game between them. Credits were piled in neat stacks on the table. Vasha moved a few tokens from one stack to another.

“Would you consider selling her? I’d like a matching set,” the coppery man said to Vasha.

The longer Vasha took to answer, the more nervous she grew. He wouldn’t consider selling her. He wouldn’t.

“I’m afraid Mimi is not for sale,” Vasha said.

Miriam released a breath.

“You plan on breeding her,” the man said.

Vasha did not reply immediately. He slid a stack of tokens into the center of the table. “Breeding is a better use than having a rare female serve as your poison taster.”

The other man’s quills went flat. “I admire the confidence that it takes to believe that the world needs a duplicate of yourself. I’ve never felt the compulsion myself.”

Vasha’s tail twitched, annoyed, but his tone remained placid. He completely ignored the insult and said, “I understand that you’re a male who appreciates singular, one-of-a-kind items.”

Miriam’s attention drifted as Vasha leaned into his soft sales pitch, hinting at a unique item he recently acquired. Over the last two days, she heard several versions of the same spiel: he won it in a card game, he took it as payment, or, her personal favorite, he stole it out of spite. The result was always the same—Vasha would rather have credits and was willing to accept less than face-value for cash in hand. Honestly, they’d be doing him a favor by taking it off his hands.

The woman leaned over and whispered, “I’m Darla.”

Miriam kept her eyes forward. Speaking softly, she said, “Miriam.”

“Logus isn’t as bad as he seems.”

“At least you get to wear real clothes.”

“How long have you been awake?” Darla asked.

“About four months, I think. You?”

“A year. The guy who found me… Let’s just say I’m okay with Logus.”

Miriam reached over blindly for Darla’s hand and squeezed. The other woman sucked in a shaky breath as her hand tightened around Miriam’s.

She was lucky that Alice and her alien gang found her. She knew that in an abstract sense, but never really thought what it would mean if anyone else had found her pod. Being coddled and slightly bored at Alice’s homestead was the best-case scenario. She was such a brat for complaining about it… what? Only a week ago? It seemed a lifetime ago.

“I heard about a settlement for humans,” Darla whispered.

Miriam glanced at the woman without moving her head. Was this a test? If so, from who? Vasha? What did he care about runaway humans?

No, Miriam reminded herself. Her captivity was an act. Vasha didn’t care about runaway humans. That other guy, Logus, who knew his motivation?

“I’ve heard about it,” Miriam whispered back.

“I’m going there,” Darla said, lifting her chin.

“Do you know where it is? ‘The mountains’ is pretty vague for directions.”

“So you have heard about it.”

Miriam shrugged to cover up her lack of espionage skills. She'd make a terrible spy. She said, “You hear things. That’s all I know.”

“I’ll find it,” Darla said, conviction in her voice. “It took seven months for Logus to trust me without a leash. Seven months of being the perfect, sweet, and submissive human. First chance I get, I’m gone.” She gave a nod to the silver band on Miriam’s wrist. “If you play your cards right, you can get rid of yours too.”

Miriam rubbed the band. It wasn’t activated. She’d never allow Vasha to put a real leash on her. At least he said it wasn’t activated. She watched him disable the device before clamping it on her wrist.

Dread filled her chest. What if he lied? He was such a liar, and she was too trusting.

Miriam glanced at Vasha. The two men were too busy haggling to notice.

Shit. Vasha lied about going back for Perrigaul, and he lied about putting a leash on her. The man was nothing but lies.

“Vasha is too much of a liar to ever trust anyone, let alone me,” Miriam said.

Darla squeezed her hand. “Don’t give up. Don’t let them win. They think they can tame us.” Venom laced every whispered word.

“Mimi,” Vasha said, his voice all sweet and smooth. He patted his lap. “Come here.”

Miriam rose to her feet but approached slowly. Snuggle time was new, and she didn’t like it.

Vasha grabbed her around the waist and yanked her into his lap. One hand clamped around her throat, forcing her chin up. “What are you doing?” he hissed in her ear.

“No-nothing,” she shuttered. She swallowed, struggling not to panic.

“You are plotting with that female.”

“I wanted to know her name. Honest.”

He made a disbelieving noise, but his grip on her throat eased. “I am a reasonable male, Mimi. All I ask is for you to behave. Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

He stroked a finger up the side of her throat, right where a frill would be if she had one. The intimacy of the gesture repulsed her. Miriam shivered.

“You lie,” he said.

“I’m not lying.”

“Hmm. I think your male will keep another day in the Sunken Palace.”

Her heart raced. Vasha couldn’t do that. They were already a day past their agreement. They had a deal, but it was clear that the treacherous man had no intention of keeping up his end of the bargain. She should have known.

Perrigaul was dead. Even if he still breathed, she had no way to rescue him before he succumbed to dehydration, so the result remained the same. Dead.

“Before you think of causing a scene, I can easily wait an additional day. It is nothing to me, but I think your male might be concerned. Thirsty, even.”

Miriam twisted around to face him. If Vasha thought he could casually let Perrigaul die and she’d just sit there quiet and demure, he was mistaken.

Visualize and actualize. She’d actualize so hard on his ass that his tail would fall off. Poison would be ironic, but she had no idea how to go about it other than dumping a box of rat poison with a cartoon skull and crossbones on it into his tea. Besides, it just wasn’t practical. He regularly dosed himself to build a tolerance, so ordinary skull-and-crossbones rat poison wouldn’t cut it.

Bullets. They were brutal and to the point. She’d need to find a gun, and the logistics of purchasing a gun seemed complicated. She could trade a piece of jewelry, but doing that without Vasha noticing would be tough.

Fuck it, she’d stab him. There was probably an ornamental dagger somewhere on the treasure ship. That would work.

She never got the chance to finish her murder plotting.

The sky darkened, casting the gaming floor into shadow.

Miriam looked up just as the glass shattered.

CHAPTER 18

PERRIGAUL

THREE DAYS he spent following Vasha’s trail. The male, for all his faults, was predictable.

Perrigaul started the hunt at Vasha’s favorite tavern and lounges. From there, he and the Khargal tracked Vasha from one disreputable den to a slightly less disreputable den. It was a tour of the worst places.

It wasn’t much of a hunt. Once, Perrigaul might have enjoyed closing in on his prey, but his worry for his mate overrode that. Miriam’s safe return was all he cared about.

The Khargal, however, surprised him. Ari delivered on his half of the bargain. His ship was brand new. Perrigaul detected plastic protective sheets on several of the electronics. Despite the newness, it was well equipped and thoughtfully done. The selection in the armory was impressive and comprehensive. The crew were mercenaries, but they were experienced professionals.

Now they had Vasha cornered.

Ari’s wings stretched and fluttered as he addressed his mercenaries. A blueprint of the gaming hall was projected onto a screen. “Your objective is to create mayhem and confusion. Should you part credits from the gamblers and redistribute wealth, all the better. You’ll find your cut of profits will be generous.”

The plan was brutal but effective. They did not have time for an elegant plan with complicated steps to drain the gambling club of all its credits. Shame.

Next time.

Ari continued, “Perrigaul’s target is this male who abducted his mate.” An image of Vasha appeared on the large overhead screen. It was an unflattering image taken from a recent arrest. Vasha stared blankly at the camera in lighting that washed away the little color his scales held.

“This is Perrigaul’s mate. Her safety is our priority.” An image of Miriam replaced Vasha. It was retrieved yesterday from a security feed. Perrigaul had studied it at length. It told him several things. She did not have any bruises or obvious injuries. Frustratingly, the grainy image did not tell Perrigaul what he needed to know. Was she safe? Had Vasha threatened her? Touched her? How many fingers did he need to feed to the treacherous male?

All of them, he decided.

“Perrigaul and I will handle Vasha,” Ari said, concluding the team meeting. “We arrive at the gaming hall in five minutes. Be prepared. I will descend first in my stone form.”

The mercenaries quipped and talked among themselves, but Perrigaul recognized the quiet anticipation of action. Each hired hand was ready to jump into battle. They wore armor and carried a variety of tools and weapons. They were too seasoned for a last-minute scramble.

Good.

Perrigaul needed a quick resolution.

MIRIAM

With her hands, she shielded herself from falling glass. It was hard to know what was happening. People shouted. Figures wearing head-to-toe black armor landed, crunching glass under their boots. One figure with leathery wings stood taller than the others.

Security fired. The figure’s wings moved like a shield, blocking the shot. The crowd erupted into screams.

Then she saw him.

Dressed in black armor and a faceless helmet, not an inch of skin showed. Still, recognition rang through Miriam like a bell. That was Perrigaul. She would know him anywhere.

Before she could shout his name, Vasha shoved her to the ground. The table fell to the side, spilling drinks and cards. “Stay close,” he ordered.

“But Perrigaul—”

“Nothing good is happening. Do not make yourself a target.” Crouching, Vasha peered around the table.

“You’re running away,” she said, somehow surprised. Of course, Vasha was running away. He was a survivor, not a stick-around-and-fight-it-out kind of guy.

“Do I look like I am prepared for a brawl? Do you know how many credits I spent on this suit?” Vasha hissed the question over his shoulder. “We can make a run for the exit.”

Vasha rose to his feet and dragged her upright.

“No,” she said, refusing to leave Perrigaul behind. Again.

“Have it your way,” Vasha said, and jumped to his feet, disappearing into the chaos of the crowd.

He left her. He left her. That low down snake. That weasel. That... she didn’t want to insult a perfectly innocent animal with an unsavory connection to Vasha. It wasn’t fair because he was an eye-watering vile scumbag, and snakes and weasels had vital roles in the ecosystem.

Glass burst nearby. Miriam ducked back down. Logus and Darla were long gone, lost in the fleeing crowd. She needed to get Perrigaul’s attention without getting herself shot.

As it happens, she didn't have to bother with making a plan.

From behind, a pair of strong arms clamped around her middle and hoisted her off the ground. “You’re coming with me, female.”

“Put me down!" Miriam kicked her legs in panic and clawed at the arms. Her fingernails scraped over red scales, completely ineffectual.

“You’re mine now.”

“Vasha will give you a reward for returning me.” She squirmed, wanting to get a look at the person holding her captive.

“I do not think so. That male was foolish enough to leave you behind. That means you’re up for grabs.”

Fantastic.

“I don’t think finders-keepers is recognized by the courts.”

The guy holding her laughed. Laughed. So Miriam slammed her head back, crushing his nose.

He yelped in pain as her eyes watered, but he relaxed her hold and she slid down to the ground.

Miriam touched the back of her head and her fingers came away sticky. Not hers, she decided, judging from the angry Nakkoni with a bloody face growling at her.

He wiped a hand across his face, smearing blood, and stalked forward.

“Look, no hard feelings,” she said, backing up. She stumbled over a toppled chair but caught herself before she fell.

The man lunged forward and grabbed her wrist tight enough to bruise. “I can see why that male left you behind. You are trouble but you will fetch a decent price, even if you are injured.”

“I’m not—” She cut herself off. Right, right. That was a threat.

She twisted her arm, trying to break his grasp, but he was onto her tricks. The man pulled her forward, yanking her off her feet. This was bad. He was stronger than her, and no one noticed them in the chaos.

“Let her go!” Darla stood behind the man and swung a broken chair leg at the base of his tail.

He shouted in surprise, releasing Miriam. He spun toward Darla, whacking Miriam with his tail.

“You have made a serious error, female,” he snarled.

Darla held the chair leg over her shoulder like a baseball bat. “Yeah? Try me.”

Miriam stomped on the tip, for all the good her bare feet did, while Darla swung. The improvised bat connected with his stomach. He grabbed the chair leg, ripping it from Darla’s hands.

With fury in his eyes, the man swung the chair leg up, ready to bring it down with force.

Logus stepped between the attacker and Darla, catching the weapon before it could connect. “What are you doing to my human?”

“She attacked me.”

“My female? You are mistaken,” Logus said in a smooth voice.

The two men stood close, their tails lashing violently from side to side, and quills up in a full display for intimidation. Neither seemed willing to back down.

Darla stood behind Logus, cowering like a submissive pet should. Still, she peeked around Logus, anger in her eyes. She looked at Miriam and mouthed, “Run,” she mouthed.

Miriam didn’t want to run away. Darla had her chance of escape and gave it up to save Miriam from being kidnapped for real. She couldn’t just leave. She had to help Darla. Somehow. It was hard to think amid all the commotion. She could distract Logus.

No. How? Jingle her bracelets at him? What she needed was for the two men to stop measuring their dicks and start throwing punches.

When all this was over, she really needed to work on her anger issues. Do a detox and some meditation.

Gunfire made her decision for her, prompting her to turn and run.

Miriam ran to the side of the room. With a wall to her back, she could scan the crowd for Perrigaul. Smoke hung over the room. No doubt someone deployed a canister of some kind of gas. Her eyes didn’t sting but the smoke hadn’t reached her yet.

“There you are.” Vasha emerged from the crowd. “I told you to stay close.”

“Perrigaul—”

“Will murder me if anything happens to you.” He nearly sounded concerned for her, but Miriam knew he was only concerned with himself.

“Perrigaul will find you and he’s not going to be happy,” she said.

He grabbed her arm, pulling her forward. “Come. Do not fight me, female.”

He didn’t want her to fight? Fine.

Miriam made her body go limp. She was dead weight that Vasha had to dart forward to catch.

Growling in frustration, he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Put me down!” she shouted, pounding her fists against his back. She tried to kick, but his arm was like an iron bar across the back of her thighs, holding her in place. Frankly, it was humbling and exhausting to be manhandled like she was nothing.

“You promised to behave.” He jogged through the crowd. From Miriam’s over-the-shoulder perspective, it was like the crowd parted for Vasha and she only saw the churning chaos of his wake.

“Oh, don’t try to be a rules lawyer. You ditched me and Perrigaul is here. Let me go.” Each step drove his shoulder into her stomach, making it difficult to speak. She twisted and thrashed, trying to break free. It was soon apparent that she just didn’t have the strength to break his hold. She needed to do something to get Vasha to stop.

“Perrigaul! Over here!” she shouted. A figure wearing a black helmet turned toward her voice. She hoped that was Perrigaul under there.

Vasha wasn’t stopping or letting her go. She reached down, hooking her hands under his coat. Her fingers brushed against the pouch holding the orb. Blindly, she fumbled with the ties.

“What are you doing? Stop at once.” Vasha knocked her hands away.

She wasn’t pickpocket material, but Vasha had stopped, so success.

“Set my mate down,” a familiar voice said.

Perrigaul. All she could see from her upside-down vantage were boots, but the voice was all him.

Vasha placed her down on her feet. For a moment, she wobbled as the blood equalized. He held out a hand to keep her steady but quickly snatched it back when Perrigaul growled. Actually growled. It was the kind of overly aggressive bullshit posturing that should have appalled a modern, civilized person who enjoyed nature hikes and tried to eat organic, but attraction fluttered inside her.

Perrigaul grabbed Vasha from behind, pressing a knife against his throat. With the helmet raised, she saw the pure rage on Perrigaul’s face. He looked about five seconds from beating the snot out of Vasha, which should have horrified Miriam. She was philosophically against violence except in self-defense. Or shanking Vasha, because he had it coming.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a philosophical stance against violence. It was complicated. In fact, the way society glorified violence while vilifying normal expressions of love and sexuality said more about society’s dysfunction than sex ever could.

Right now, Perrigaul holding a knife to Vasha’s throat was really doing it for her, and she was worried about what that aching sense of desire said about her.

Blame it on adrenaline. Sure. It had nothing to do with the strength in Perrigaul’s arms or the way a thin line of scarlet decorated Vasha’s throat because that just would have been gross.

“Hey,” she said, smiling because she was so damn happy to see him. “You don’t have to murder Vasha. I mean, he’s not the best person and his personality is oily, but he’s not the worst.”

“Thank you for the endorsement,” Vasha said. Apparently, he had no sense of self-preservation.

“I am surprised you would defend a male who put you in such a costume.” Perrigaul’s gaze swept over her.

Miriam fought the urge to tug the skirt down over her butt. “Like you’re not in cosplay right now. Anyway, it’s protective coloration.”

“Ah, the camouflage.” His gaze swept over her again, as if reconsidering her outfit.

“I know, right? Always gold bikinis. I suggested something to blend in, but this…” She waved a hand over her exposed midriff.

Perrigaul grunted, which could have meant anything from he approved of the costume to she really needed to cover herself up. Over his shoulder, tables flipped, and people ran.

“I’m glad to see you, but don’t you think this is a little extra?” she asked.

“It is a bit much,” Vasha agreed. “You could have jumped me from the shadows like a normal person.”

Perrigaul ignored his captive. “This was not my idea. I asked for a simple distraction, but Ari insisted. He likes to play with expensive toys.”

“Ari?” Her mind went blank trying to recall why she knew that name. “The guy from the train? The guy who sent goons after us and shot you in the foot? That Ari?”

Another grunt. “It is not ideal, but I was not in a position to refuse his aid.”

Miriam had questions, but they could wait. She stepped in, pressing herself to Vasha’s side to reach Perrigaul. “I missed you,” she said, “and I’m so damn happy to see you. I swore the next time I saw you, I’d tell you everything that’s in my heart.”

“Tell me what is in your heart,” Perrigaul said.

Miriam took a deep breath. “I wrote a little speech in my head, but I can’t remember it now, so this is going to be sloppy.”

“No, please, continue to ignore me. I’m not really here,” Vasha complained.

Miriam placed her hand over his mouth and turned his face away. She continued, “I love you, and this probably isn’t the best time to say it, but I decided that I’d tell you the next time I saw you because of the fragility of everything, so there. I love you.” Perrigaul opened his mouth to speak, but Miriam continued, barely pausing to breathe, “Don’t tell me it’s too soon or adrenaline or not real. I’ve felt this way for a long time. Since I first saw you, I think.”

“You fainted the first time you saw me.”

“The second time, then.”

He grinned, all teeth and more than a little menacing, and there went her heart, getting all fluttery again.

Over his shoulder, Miriam saw canisters hit the ground in a cloud of gray smoke.

“You wanna get out of here?” she asked.

“Yes, that seems prudent.”

She reached around Vasha to grab the pouch with the orb. Yanking once, the string snapped. Turning the bag over, the orb fell into her hand. “We shouldn’t forget this.”

“That is mine,” Vasha said.

“Finders keepers,” she said.

“That is a standard policy,” Perrigaul agreed.

“I’m entitled to my fee,” Vasha grumbled.

“Do you want a new ship, Perrigaul? I know where one is parked, chock full of poisonous plants. I don’t know the security codes, but I don’t think that’d stop you,” Miriam said.

“Fine, take the orb. Leave my ship out of this,” Vasha said, his shoulder sagging.

“I’ll let you keep all the credits and items you’ve taken from Mer’len’s ship. I think that’s more than fair compensation,” she said. “But I’m taking Mer’len’s ship.”

“That is fair, considering you poisoned me, abducted my mate, and left me to die. Tell me you agree,” Perrigaul said, pressing the knife under Vasha’s scales. The opalescent scales there rose, and the man hissed.

“That was a misunderstanding,” Vasha weeded.

“That is not what I want to hear.” The scale slanted to what had to be an uncomfortable angle, and why did that make her lick her lips?

“I agree! I agree.”

Look, Miriam knew this was torture, and it was wrong, but it was also not… wrong? Vasha had it coming. She enjoyed watching Perrigaul dish it out, but she really didn’t like what that said about her.

A loud boom rumbled the floor, and the light fixtures popped, leaving only the natural sunlight streaming through the giant hole in the ceiling as the only source of light.

She’d worry about her moral alignment when things were a little less explodey.

“Let’s get out of here?” she asked Perrigaul.

As an answer, he gave Vasha a shove. “If I see you again, I will pluck out your scales,” he called to Vasha’s retreating figure.

Miriam smiled at Perrigaul, momentarily forgetting about the chaos that swirled around them. “Your mate, huh?”

“You love me, huh?” he repeated in a mocking tone, but that only made her laugh.

“I don’t suppose you have a quick exit plan?”

“I have a magnetic lock grappling hook,” he replied.

“You have literally never been more attractive than you are right now,” she said.

He huffed, clearly amused, and wrapped one arm around her waist. “Hold tight,” he ordered.

“Wait.” She tied the orb pouch to her skirt and gave it a tug to make certain it was secure. “Okay. Ready.”

Perrigaul lifted her chin with one finger, angling her face to his. Their lips met, and the rest of the world fell away. He extended one arm over his head. The next thing she knew, she gasped, flew off her feet, and quickly ascended to the hole in the roof.

Best rescue ever.

CHAPTER 19

MIRIAM

PERRIGAUL PRESSED her against the wall, kissing her like she was the air he needed to breathe. Eventually, he pulled away.

“You love me,” he said, wonder in his voice.

“I’m your mate,” she answered.

“You are. My hearts belong to you.” He placed her hands on his chest, one over each heart, she presumed.

She swore she could feel the beating of his heart through the armor. She’d been living with aliens long enough to know that Perrigaul calling her his mate wasn’t a thoughtless choice of words. “That’s sweet and poetic, but you better mean forever,” she said.

Opening the near-invisible closure on the front of the armor, he moved both her hands to his exposed chest. The scales were warm and smooth beneath her palms.

He placed his hand over her left hand. “This heart carried on a lonely existence, day in and day out, without you.” He covered her right hand. “This one is for you.”

Poetry.

There was probably a perfectly valid evolutionary reason for two hearts—stress, a backup if the first one got injured, and so on—but she didn’t care.

“This heart is mine,” she said, nearly whispering. Emotion choked her. An hour ago, she thought the worst. Vasha reneged on his word and left Perrigaul to die. She looked up, blinking back a sudden swell of tears. She ran her hands over him, verifying his realness.

There. She felt the distinct thud of his heart. And there, on the other side. They worked together, keeping a steady pace. He was real. Really real. Tears came unbidden now, full of relief, joy, and just a touch of fear.

“Good thing I like you,” she said, forcing her tone to be lighthearted despite the tears streaking her face.

“You love me. You cannot take it back. I refuse.”

She smiled. “Oh, I can’t take it back. I was visualizing how to murder Vasha since he wasn’t going to go back and rescue you like he promised.”

“Murder? For me? I am touched.” He pressed his lips to hers, gentle and reverent.

“Yeah, I totally put my intentions out in the universe.”

“I like the way you flirt, visualizing how to slay those who’ve wronged me,” he said, making it sound like she promised him treasures beyond his imagination. For this planet? A murder plot was better than gold.

They were messed up, but she liked it.

Miriam pulled away and finally noticed their surroundings. They were in a very clean cargo hold. “Where are we?”

“Ari’s ship.”

Right, that guy from the train.

“Looks expensive,” she said. Not that she had a lot of experience in spaceships. She’d been in two, total, but both those ships were very lived-in. They were old and patched together with mismatched parts. In fact, everything on this planet had that cobbled look. Buildings were sagging and tired. Vehicles were rusted and held together with bubblegum and positive vibes. Every scrap of clothing was second-hand or upcycled. Nothing was shiny and new.

Except for this ship.

“Because it is,” Perrigaul said.

She tried to formulate her question about why and how. Ari hadn’t made a great first impression on the train and now Perrigaul was all cozy with him and pulling casino heists?

Perrigaul seemed to sense her unasked question and said, “Do not think he is acting out of kindness or some sense of justice. I offered a generous payment for his assistance.”

Now that made sense.

“How much? Sorry, that’s rude to ask,” she said. People got touchy about money, and she knew Perrigaul was frugal, to put it nicely. Money meant security, something he never had a lot of growing up.

“Sixty percent share of the treasure,” he answered.

“What? That’s—” Stunning. Unbelievable. He was giving away a fortune.

“Credits do me no good if I do not have you,” he said.

This man was a poet. His words sang to her heart.

She ran her hands over his chest, watching his reaction. His tail swayed from side to side, and a rumble purred in his throat.

Yeah, she felt the same.

The clatter of grappling hooks connecting with the ship broke the moment. Within the space of a heartbeat, the cargo hold was filled with armored bodies.

The tall figure with leathery wings took off his helmet. Ari said, “Hello again, sweet human.”

Perrigaul growled.

Ari’s wings fluttered, as if amused. “That’s precious, but the posturing can wait. We have a getaway to make.”

Miriam tapped Perrigaul’s chest. His eyes, burning with outrage, snapped from Ari to her.

“Does this fancy ship come with privacy?” she asked.

His quills went up. “I have a cabin but I failed to search it for listening devices.”

She didn’t care about listening devices or hidden cameras right now. There was too much inside her at the moment to care. And she wanted a lot more inside her.

“Good enough,” she said.

PERRIGAUL

The moment the cabin door slid shut, he had her against the door. His body pressed against hers. Her soft hands tugged up his shirt, desperate to touch him.

“Too many clothes,” his mate said.

He agreed. He stripped off his shirt, tossed it to the floor, and kicked off his boots. She followed his example.

He moved her hands out of the way. “Let me undress my mate,” he said.

“Don’t rip anything. These are the only clothes I have.”

As much as he wanted to undress her himself, he could not guarantee that he would not tear the clothing out of impatience. He wanted to touch her now. He said, “Very well, but do not tease me. My hearts cannot take it.”

“Your hearts, huh?” Her smile was wicked, pure diabolical delight, and he loved it. Loved her.

She turned around, presenting her back to him, and glanced over her shoulder. The shirt dropped to the floor, revealing the tight-fitting halter top underneath, which quickly joined its compatriot. Slowly, she rolled down the bond of the ridiculously short skirt. Inch by inch, she revealed her luscious behind. His fangs itched, wanting to bite.

“Do not tease me,” he said, his voice thick.

She removed the jewelry one piece at a time, letting the valuable pieces land in a heap on the floor. All that remained was the Eye of Nakkon.

“Wait,” he said, placing his hand over hers. “Leave it. I like the look of you in a crown.”

He heard her breath catch. “Okay,” she agreed.

Wearing only the crown, she turned around, her hands covering the most interesting parts of her. He had, technically, seen her nude before, but not in the light. She was stunning, and she licked her lips when she looked at him. Him.

It seemed unbelievable that such a female would pick a rejected, outcast male such as himself. In no universe did they make sense, the librarian and the thief. In that moment, though, in their cabin, it was just them and they made perfect sense.

“You are the most precious thing I’ve ever beheld,” he said.

“Come here,” she said, gesturing him closer.

He stepped closer, also nude, his cock hard. She stretched up on her toes and reached behind his head, removing the band that held back his quills. They fell around him in an uncontrolled mess.

She grinned and twisted her fingers into his quills, drawing his face to hers. Their mouths crashed together. He could not be elegant or gentle. Not now. He lifted her, her legs wrapping around him. He worked his fingers into her, finding her eager and ready.

“Perrigaul, I need you,” she groaned.

He pushed into her, slowly feeling her stretch around him. Once feeling seated, he pulled back and drove forward. She gasped, her hands tugging on his quills. Pleasure spiked within him.

He pumped into her, uncontrolled and without tempo. This frantic pace couldn’t last. Desire had too tight a stranglehold on him, starting at the base of his tail and running up his spine.

His mate. His mate. His hearts beat the rhythm. Each breath was a promise to love and adore.

“I love you,” she moaned between gasps.

“I love you,” he managed to say, his voice thick. “You have to know. From the moment you knocked me on my tail.”

She laughed, tightening her core around him. He pressed his face against the curve of her neck when her scent was strongest and licked, tasting her skin. So perfect. So perfect for him.

He was done for. With his mate clenching and fluttering around him, he released deep into her, growling her name.

His petals expanded. He bit, acting on basic instinct, sinking his fangs into her flesh.

Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God. Don’t move.”

He held her, his hands on her ass and her legs wrapped around him. It was a tight fit, too tight. She could not contain all of him. He pulled back enough for a tentacle to slip free.

She sighed, leaning against him. “That feels amazing. How long does it… do you stay this way?”

Truthfully, his stem would stay swollen while it received stimulation. He said, “We’re not done yet.”

MIRIAM

Still holding her, he stumbled backward until he reached the mattress. He crashed down. She bounced on his impending tentacles, rubbing her in just the right spots.

She rested her head against his shoulder, moaning as she rocked slowly. One tentacle remained inside her. One prodded at her back entrance, teasing the sensitive flesh there. The other wedged itself between them, firmly affixed to her clit. The gentle pull and suck were enough to make her come again.

He gripped her hips, guiding her. It was a slow and steady build, not the wild chase of her first orgasm. Ecstasy rolled over her. She drowned in touch and moans and shared breaths. Lips pressed to lips. Whispered words of love and devotion. She drowned, and she only wanted more.

Perrigaul’s fingers dug into her and his entire body tensed. She cried out as her pleasure peaked, her body trembling. She felt the warm gush of his release.

Breathless, she leaned against him, waiting for the trembling to subside.

He stroked her shoulder. The bite didn’t hurt, but she felt it. It throbbed, matching the ache inside her.

“My mate,” he said, his voice reverential.

“My mate,” she repeated back.

“I’m yours,” he said. “My heart is yours.”

She melted. Just melted. The future was uncertain. Life and the universe often did whatever they felt like, sweeping her along. Whatever happened tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow, she knew Perrigaul would be there. His heart belonged to her.

“You’re mine,” she whispered before kissing him.

Her heart belonged to him too.

CHAPTER 20

MIRIAM

“CREW MEETING.” The announcement came over an intercom system, breaking the peaceful quiet of the cabin. “Put your pants back on, Nakkoni.”

Perrigaul growled, and Miriam felt the same. This was nice. Lying in bed with her head on his chest, listening to the twin thuds of Perrigaul’s hearts. She didn’t want to get back to the real world.

He shifted to sit up.

“No, don’t go,” she said, tightening her arms around his chest. “Stay. Let’s play hooky.”

“I have a debt to settle,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Now you get all honorable and junk?”

“Honor has nothing to do with it.” He pulled up his pants and shoved his feet into his boots. “We are Ari’s partners until he decides we are his prisoners.”

“Right, right. Keep the criminal kingpin happy and no one has to bleed.”

Perrigaul snorted. “That one is not the head of a criminal organization. He likes to spend money and does not believe that rules apply to him.”

“I dunno. He did pull off a casino heist.”

“That was chaos.” Boots fastened, he stood and opened a hidden compartment in the cabin’s wall. He handed her a long shirt and a pair of leggings. “You cannot continue to wear that outfit.”

“Thanks,” she said, particularly grateful not to have to put the gold bikini back on. “I don’t suppose there’s time for a shower.”

“No. We can bathe after Ari’s performance.”

“Sounds good,” she said, shoving the halter top over her head. It fit tight enough to be a bra and worked well enough after removing the gold chains and jewelry. The shirt, obviously Perrigaul’s, was long enough to be a mid-thigh-length dress, but a belt helped give it shape. She liked the idea of wearing his shirt. It was cozy, like a hug.

Perrigaul continued to speak as she dressed. “If I organized a casino heist, no one would suspect that they had been robbed until after the fact. Busting through a glass ceiling and ripping the jewels off of the gamblers is a smash-and-grab job. It is for beginners.”

“I’m sure your heist would be the stuff of legends,” she said, putting on the leggings. Stretchy, they were the kind meant to be worn by nearly anyone, but the lack of a tail opening in the back told her that Perrigaul got these pants especially for her. “You went shopping for me. Thank you.”

“Yes. It is nothing,” he said, his face a darker red, and ran a hand over his quills.

Damn, he was adorable when he was flustered.

The shoes were more like water socks, but it beat going barefoot.

“Ready for the crew meeting,” she said.

“One moment.” Perrigaul tugged at the collar on the shirt, revealing the bite mark he left on her shoulder. Gently, he kissed the tender flesh. “It will heal. My apologies for damaging you.”

“Is biting something that the Nakkoni do?”

Another flush. “It is something that I do. Apparently. I was not… I should not have bitten you, but all I could think of was that I needed to mark you as mine.” She liked the way he stressed that word. Mine. He said, “It is uncivilized and not acceptable.”

“Well, I like it.”

He took a step back like she had sucker-punched him. “You cannot.”

“You don’t get to tell me what I like,” she said, keeping her voice light and carefree. The bite surprised her, but she liked the primal element of it. “There’s a whole genre of literature on Earth where mates claim each other with bites and scaring. It’s pretty hot.”

He made a humming, thinking noise as he straightened the collar. “My behavior is inexcusable, but if you enjoy it, then I will confess that it pleases me to see my mark on you.”

“I think Ari is waiting for us.”

“Bring the orb. That is what he wants,” Perrigaul said, holding open the cabin door for her.

The ship’s design had a flowing, organic feel with curved arches and a gentle slope to the walls. There didn’t seem to be a right-angle in sight. The walls were a soft, mottled brown, and gave the impression of tunnels dug into the earth. Lighting embedded down at the base of the wall added to the illusion of being underground. It was surprisingly cozy. The ship almost felt alive, like it had been grown instead of constructed.

Could it be a living ship?

Miriam didn’t know. The idea seemed right out of a sci-fi movie, but she had been abducted by aliens, so she wasn’t in a position to say what was ludicrous and what was reasonable. Some fungus got huge, right? She remembered reading about a huge fungus in Michigan that was the size of three blue whales. There was even a Doctor Who episode about space whales moving a city on its back. It was a legitimate question.

“There’s not giant space fungus, is there?” she asked.

“No.”

“Space whales?”

Perrigaul gave her some impressive side-eye. “It is a big galaxy, but not to my knowledge. I hesitate to ask what brought on this question.”

“Just curious. This ship feels like it was grown.”

“I assure you; it is a machine.”

Miriam nodded. “I like this ship better than Vasha’s greenhouse of poison.”

Perrigaul growled. “Do not mention that treacherous, worthless male. I should have cut his tail off when I had the chance.”

“If it makes you feel better, he’s crying about losing the treasure ship. Ugly crying too, with snot and hyperventilating.”

His quills went up and down. “It makes me feel a little better.”

The corridor opened into a common area. A dozen people crowded the space, drinking and generally having a good time. These had to be the mercenaries Perrigaul mentioned. A few had a hard, no-nonsense air to them and accompanying scars, but the ones with youthful faces surprised her. They seemed so fresh-faced and hardly the type to crash through a glass ceiling and rob the patrons of a gambling club. Then again, what did she know? They did the job efficiently, even with their baby faces.

“My favorite human!” Ari threw open his arms to embrace her. In one hand, he held a glass of dark, sparkling liquid. It sloshed precariously.

Miriam stepped back. She was grateful to the man for saving Perrigaul and all, but she was not hugging him. “Thank you for the assistance,” she said.

“For you, it is nothing. I owed you a debt,” Ari said.

“For being a creep on the train? Sending your goons after us?” Miriam blushed as she said the words. Insulting the guy who had a literal army for hire in the room was a bad idea. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. You’ve been very kind—”

Ari laughed. “The Widians were not my guards. They were my captors.”

“Your captors.”

His wings fluttered. “I needed a distraction and saw a lone human. Your protector here did the rest, and I made my escape.”

Miriam replayed the encounter on the train. Huh. Ari had acted like he was in control and Miriam assumed, but the pieces made sense. The Widian guards failed to listen to his orders to stop shooting, and he shielded her from gunfire with his wings.

“Well, nice ship,” she said.

“Thank you. I won it in a card game. Now there is the unfortunate matter of my fee.” Ari tossed a look at Perrigaul.

Awareness of all the hired guns in the room crawled over Miriam. She barely suppressed a shiver.

“There’s a slight delay in payment,” Perrigaul said. His tail swayed lazily from side to side.

“You said if we found the poison eater, we’d find the treasure,” Ari said in a smooth, measured tone. “As charming as I find your female, she is not the treasure I’m after.”

“You’ll get your share,” Perrigaul said. He held the orb in his hand. It caught the light and glowed.

“Is that it? It’s lovely but hardly extraordinary,” Ari said, reaching for the orb.

Perrigaul pulled it back, cradling it close to his body. “No touching until the mercenaries are gone.”

Ari turned to Miriam. “Your mate is trying my patience.”

Yeah, Miriam got that. She said, “That’s not the treasure. That’s a key.”

“How intriguing. Very well, I will have to suffer with my curiosity. We’ll be docking soon. Have a drink.” Ari waved a hand toward the bar.

She’d rather have a snack than a drink. She hadn’t eaten since early that morning and her tank was running on empty. “Actually, do you have something to eat? I’m starving.”

Ari opened his mouth to speak when Perrigaul interrupted. “Come with me to the kitchen,” he said, dragging her out of the common and into a galley kitchen.

The door shut, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. The intensity in his eyes shocked her. Gone was the playful scoundrel. This was serious.

“Tell me you know where Vasha hid Mer’len’s ship,” he said.

“Can’t we track it with the orb?”

He shook his head. “I do not believe so.”

“Well, shit. I don’t know the coordinates, but I can describe it,” she said. “We left it in a cave. Like, we flew over the water toward a cliff and into a cave. It was massive inside. I know this won’t help, but it was just like the movie The Goonies, when the kids find the pirate ship.”

Perrigaul narrowed his eyes like he wanted to question her description. Instead, he asked, “Did he drug you or alter your perception in any way?”

“I was awake and alert.”

“I believe I know the location. It is one of Vasha’s favored hideaways.” He smirked. “I told you he is predictable.”

AS IT TURNED OUT, Perrigaul knew exactly where Vasha hid the treasure ship.

Ari’s crew of hired guns disembarked at what she could only assume was a tropical paradise for pirates. Ore deposits in the island chain interfered with scanners, Perrigaul informed her, which made the island very popular with people who needed to be untraceable.

Fair enough. Sometimes it was nice to get off the grid.

Vasha’s hideaway was a three-hour flight away. Miriam had plenty of time to think. Once she was showered and fed, her mind cleared. As much as she tried to center her thoughts on peace and tranquility, she kept revisiting the chaos of those last moments in the gaming club.

What happened to all those people? What happened to Darla? She just vanished. Miriam hoped she made it out okay and that Logus treated her well.

Actually, screw that. It sucked that a person was property. It was a disgusting situation, and Miriam was disgusted with herself at how easily she just accepted it. Yes, she wanted Darla to be safe and free to do as she pleased, but she also wanted Logus to take a long walk off a short pier.

The ship approached over the water, just as Miriam remembered, and headed for a dark crevice in the cliff. Hidden by rocks, she didn’t see the cave entrance until they were directly in front of it.

Miriam stood at the back of the bridge, her eyes fixed on the screen and clutching the orb.

“I never would have found this,” she muttered as Ari maneuvered the ship through the entrance.

The screen went dark, then light filtered in.

They were inside a massive grotto. Sunlight streamed down through an aperture in the ceiling. Dust particles floated in the air, sparking golden as they caught the sun in their lazy descent. Vines clung to the walls.

Tucked away in the shadows, Mer’len’s ship waited.

Miriam hugged the orb to her chest. She knew what she needed to do, but the timing had to be right. As much as she itched to get it over with, she needed to wait.

Treachery, like comedy, relied on timing.

PERRIGAUL

The greedy male practically drooled.

Perrigaul dabbed a tissue at the corners of the male’s mouth. Ari snatched the tissue and glared at him.

He walked away laughing and regretted nothing.

Mer’len’s ship was unchanged. Amazingly, Vasha had not cleaned out the contents. Perrigaul expected the male to have sold every piece as quickly as possible.

“How much is here?” Ari asked. He ran a finger along a shelf displaying an ornate statue. Perrigaul felt the figurine was noteworthy, but he did not know enough about art or history to say.

“Vasha sold some minor pieces. There was a cache of credits and gold. He took those,” Miriam answered.

“It makes sense to move the easier items. Some of these will be difficult to move,” Perrigaul said, stopping in front of a carved wooden mask. The eyes were polished black stone embedded with silver flecks.

“There is always a buyer. You just need to find the correct venue,” Ari said breezily.

Perrigaul had no doubt that Ari had contacts who could find buyers with deep pockets. He probably even had people knowledgeable of art and history to appraise the treasures.

“How do you want to do this?” Ari asked. “I’ve never divvied up loot before.”

“We could do it by item so you get your sixty percent,” Perrigaul answered.

“Tedious.”

“Very. We could do it by value, but that will require an appraisal.” Which would require a specialist to be brought in, and Perrigaul would rather keep the number of individuals involved as small as possible.

“As charming as you are, I’d rather get this business finished quickly.”

Perrigaul strongly agreed. There was no quick and easy solution. They would spend several days completing the task.

Unless Ari betrayed them.

Unless he betrayed Ari first.

The air grew tense, like two vipers circling each other, waiting to strike.

What actually happened, he could have never predicted.

Miriam turned to Ari and said, “I want to make a deal with you, Ari.”

What was his mate doing?

Perrigaul leaned over and whispered in her ear. “Miriam, this is not a male to strike a bargain with,” he warned.

She tossed him a sharp glance. “Really? You’re one to talk. The last guy you said we could trust poisoned us, kidnapped me, and left you to die.”

“For the last time, I never said we could trust Vasha. I said he was predictable,” he said, tired of the argument.

Ari’s wings fluttered in amusement as he watched their exchange. “You should not trust me, but I am not one to undermine a profitable arrangement. Tell me your offer.”

“Half my share,” she said.

“Do not,” Perrigaul warned. Was his mate completely foolish? Half her share? It was not an insignificant sum. Certainly not one that could be thrown away.

“There was a human woman named Darla. Her owner is called Logus. Find her. Use my funds to free her. Keep the change,” Miriam said.

“If she does not wish to be freed?”

She snorted. “Buddy, have you ever met anyone who wanted to remain someone’s slave?”

“I have not, but what if she wishes to remain with this Logus?”

“Then that’s her choice, and she gets to decide like a fully autonomous person.” Miriam crossed her arms over her chest, a stubborn gesture Perrigaul recognized.

Ari cast his eyes around the room, taking in the artifacts. “A generous offer, but not generous enough, considering how difficult it will be to turn these items of art into credits. You will want this Darla retrieved as quickly as possible, which means I will be forced to part with these items at less than their full worth.”

This male attempted to cheat Miriam. It was a disgusting display.

Miriam nudged him with her elbow. “You’re growling,” she whispered.

“He is attempting to cheat you,” he said, not bothering to whisper.

“Yeah, shocker.” She rolled her round eyes—still disturbing—and turned her attention back to the greedy swindler. “Fine. My entire share.”

“Miriam, no,” Perrigaul said.

“It’s my money. I can do what I want.” The stubborn tone was back in her voice. There would be no dissuading her. “Easy come, easy go, right?”

Her proposed plan was so bad, it was an insult. Ari would be foolish not to take her credits.

He could walk away. He could take his share and spend the rest of his days lounging in the sun. Miriam would be angry, but she’d forgive him in time. Hopefully. He had every right to refuse this bargain. She knew it, and that was why she sprang her ridiculous plan on him without warning. If she had a malicious scale on her body, he’d suspect she arranged this performance to pressure him into acceptance.

No. His mate went with the flow. She just thought of his scheme and did not have time to share. Understanding that did not ease his annoyance.

“We are mates,” he said to Miriam. “Which means we are partners. We discuss plans together. We do not give away our profits on a whim without consulting the other.”

“I’m not going to apologize for wanting to buy a friend’s freedom.”

“Why this female? Because she is human?”

“Because it’s wrong! And yes, because she’s human and the same thing that happened to me happened to her—only she wasn’t lucky enough to be rescued. She was sold, and it’s wrong to buy people. I don’t know why I have to keep saying that. I can’t fix everything, but I can fix this.”

“Yes, I see that.”

Once, when he was a half-starved child and newly arrived on the prison planet, a stranger purchased him for a pair of boots. Faris said at the time that he needed a partner small enough to crawl through a ship’s ventilation system, but Perrigaul knew that was only part of the reason. Faris was a decent male and saw a vulnerable child in need of a protector. Remarkably, despite his decades on this fiendish planet, he remained a decent male.

Perrigaul knew what his friend would say if he were there.

He couldn’t fix the injustice in the world, but he could fix this situation. As his mate said, Easy come, easy go.

Perrigaul held out the orb like he offered a treat to a wild animal. “Everything. All the contents and the ship itself, if you agree to my terms.” Ari’s hand twitched. He had his interest.

“What are your terms?”

“Your planet knows the location of Earth.”

“Yes. Long ago, my planet sent an exploration team but determined the planet to be primitive and lacking in resources.”

“Hey! Humans aren’t primitive,” Miriam said.

“You were a thousand years ago,” Ari said, keeping his gaze on Perrigaul. “Is that your only term? A map?”

Of course not.

“A ship capable of reaching Earth. Your ship will do,” Perrigaul said.

“Impossible. No.”

“You’ll have this ship.” Perrigaul’s tail swayed behind him. “Mer’len’s ship. Unique. Prestigious.”

“Derelict and barely operational,” Ari retorted, but his eyes gleamed with interest. The male did not have a natural talent for bluffing.

“I’d check the expiration date on the stuff in the pantry, but everything works,” Miriam said.

“In addition to the location of Earth and your ship, you will locate and purchase the freedom of…” He searched for a suitable number. It was terrible calculus, weighing the cost of a person versus the probability that the Khargal would abandon the project at the first opportunity. “Twenty people, starting with this Darla.”

“Twenty?” Ari scoffed. “No.”

“You have to,” Miriam said, distress in her voice.

Perrigaul held up a hand to calm his mate. He saw his mistake. Hard figures would not convince the male. He was motivated by prestige. Renown. Infamy. “Consider this,” he said. “You would use the wealth acquired from cruelty and subjugation to liberate others. Such actions would make you a folk hero. Everyone would know your name.”

Ari’s wings twitched, but he looked unconvinced.

“Oh yeah,” Miriam chimed in. “Humans love stories like that. We’ve got one, Robin Hood. He stole from the rich to give to the poor. He may or may not have been a real person, but in the eighteenth century, ballads about highwaymen were very popular. Stealing from the rich. Flouting the king’s law. Sticking it to the man. People couldn’t get enough of them. And pirates. Like, you have no idea how romanticized pirates are.”

“And you suggest if I stick it to the man, I will be beloved?” Ari sounded intrigued.

“A legend,” Miriam said.

Ari hummed with interest, and Perrigaul knew negotiations were over except for the finer points.

“Once you liberate the females, do not just abandon them,” Perrigaul said. “Give them enough credits to start a new life. Hire them as crew.”

Ari chuckled. “That would be something. A band of former slaves wreaking havoc. Yes, I think that would be agreeable to me. You take my ship. I take Mer’len’s ship and its contents.”

“And you find Darla,” Miriam added.

“Of course. Completing your little mission sounds most amusing. Now get off my ship and be sure to keep your sticky fingers to yourself on your way out.”

MIRIAM

Despite Ari’s accusation, no one stole anything on the way out. Ari packed his belongings—a half-dozen trunks, though she’d expected more for a guy with such an elaborate wardrobe—and he transferred the command codes.

They had a ship. A nice ship.

Miriam threw herself down into the pilot’s seat and draped her legs over the armrest. “We need champagne.”

Perrigaul said nothing. His attention was focused on a control panel.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked.

“Why would I be upset?”

“Oh, wow, really? Like, so many reasons. I mean, the big one is you were rich for like a hot minute and now you’re broke again.”

His tail twitched. “I am far from broke. I acquired a top-end, luxury vessel.”

He tapped at the panel and a map appeared on the large screen. The system was familiar.

“Is that?” she asked, jumping to her feet.

“Earth.”

Home.

Her eyes watered. Discreetly, she swiped at her eyes. She kept feelings of homesickness at bay with constant distraction. How could she miss her moms when there was carnivorous grass? Pizza? Who needed pizza and a movie when she had new foods to try and a village full of non-humans to watch? But now there was no escaping it. She missed home, and Perrigaul gave it back to her.

Miriam reached out and took his hand. “Thank you. This is amazing.

He made a derisive noise. “It is nothing.”

Nothing? Hardly. The ship and the maps were expensive. More than expensive. Exorbitant. Extortionate, even.

“But how can you be so chill about this?” she asked.

“I am perfectly warm. Are you cold?”

Miriam shook her head. “Don’t try to charm me by misunderstanding what I’m saying. That was a lot of money. A lot, a lot. We’re talking Scrooge McDuck swimming pool money, and you just gave it away.”

“I honestly have no idea what those words mean,” he said.

Things had been non-stop, go-go-go for days now. She was too exhausted to explain herself properly and untangle the words inside her head.

She said, “It’s just I know how important it is to you to have the resources and stability that money brings. There’s nothing more important to you.”

“False. There is one thing more important to me.”

“One thing?”

“One person.” He tugged on her hand, pulling her closer.

Oh. Oh.

Miriam blushed, embarrassed that it took her so long to realize what he was saying. She was more important to him than the security that a mountain of money brought.

Words were not good enough, so she grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight. She poured everything she needed to say into the kiss, starting slowly and building in heat. This red-scaled lizardman was everything to her. Everything.

When they finally broke apart, she said, “It’s not a complete bust. I still have the Eye of Nakkon. We can sell that.”

“No. That is yours.”

Stubborn man.

“Well, how about all the jewelry Vasha made me wear? The pieces came from Mer’len’s hoard. They have to be worth a pretty penny.”

Delight sparked in his eyes, and his embrace tightened. “The necklace you wore was very fine. I would be shocked if the quality of the gems were anything less than extraordinary.”

“Well, then, will you accept a donation from the Screw Vasha Endowment?”

He laughed and it was such a joyful sound that she had to kiss him again.

When he pulled away, he kept her in his embrace. “Your heart is too soft.”

“I think yours is a little soft, too.”

“Only for you,” he said, and she believed him.

“So… what’s next?” she asked.

“I know just the place.”

CHAPTER 21

MIRIAM

ORANGE AND VIOLET streaked along the horizon of the dawn sky as the sun rose, turning the ocean silvery. The pink sand sparkled in the morning light.

Miriam cradled her mug of steaming tea as the sun’s rays chased away the lingering chill in the air. The cool breeze stirred up the edge of the blanket she sat on. This was exactly what she wanted to do that one summer in school, but this was so much better than living out of a van.

For the last week, they camped on the beach. Well, camping in the sense that they landed the ship on an uninhabited island. The ship apparently was the glamping model and came with a pop-up tent the size of a studio apartment. By night, she lounged in the shade of the tent, swam when the mood took her, made love when they pleased, and had all the plumping and modern conveniences of the ship. By night, they slept under the stars.

So much better than a converted van that always stank of feet.

Miriam couldn’t shake the feeling that the week of relaxing had to end. They needed to talk. She and Perrigaul spent nearly every moment together, but they hadn’t actually talked. Other activities kept them occupied.

Sand crunched underfoot. Perrigaul lowered himself onto the blanket next to her.

“For you,” she said, handing him the other mug.

He sniffed, then sipped. Despite teasing and insisting that she drank stick and leaf hot water, he took a liking to a cinnamon apple herbal blend, and she was a big enough person not to tease him about it.

“I’ve been thinking,” she started, then paused, waiting for some snarky remark. None came. “We can’t camp on the beach forever. Alice and Faris might eventually wonder where we are.”

“I’ve informed Faris of our whereabouts.” Perrigaul blew across the mug, scattering plumes of steam.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean? Your thinking line is back. Tell me.”

Miriam didn’t know. Sort of. She rubbed the spot between her eyebrows because she did not have a thinking line.

This started with Miriam losing her temper and flipping Perrigaul onto his back. The entire settlement saw. People talked and made offers to buy her. Not cool. Faris ordered them both to get out of town until the heat died down, for lack of a better phrase.

Weeks later, it was time to return. However, their return would set off a chain of events, whether Miriam was ready or not.

She sighed. “Okay, I’m just thinking out loud. Let me finish before you say anything. We go back and tell Alice the good news about finding the coordinates to Earth. We can’t go now, but we’ll head back to Earth as soon as she has the baby. There’s no question about that, but I don’t want to go.”

She turned to face him. “I should, right? My parents probably think I got mauled trying to hug a bear or joined a cult, so I should tell them I’m alive. But I don’t want to stay. I won’t, not without you.”

He did not try to argue that he could stay on Earth. They both knew there was no life on Earth for him. He’d have to stay hidden or run the risk of being captured and studied in some nightmarish research facility. She saw the movies. They never went well for the aliens. Humans sucked.

“It doesn’t seem fair to show up without warning and then vanish again,” she said. “So, yeah, that’s what I’m thinking. No visit. No contact. Ignorance is bliss.”

Perrigaul remained silent. It was too much. She knew it. She just spewed her feelings at him, and now he was freaking out. Eventually, he said, “You do not have to decide now.”

“That’s it? Worry about it tomorrow?”

“That’s it.” He set his mug down on the sand, did the same for hers, and took her hand. “We have time.”

They had time.

Worry unraveled in her chest. The biggest decision was already settled. She wanted forever with Perrigaul. She wouldn’t leave him. Everything else was details.

She huffed. “I was all wound up about nothing.”

“Not nothing.” His thumb brushed across her palm. “If I had the chance to see my siblings again, I’m not sure what I would do.”

It wasn’t the same thing. She said, “They know you were transported here. My mothers don’t know what happened to me.”

“They do not know if I survived. I do not know if they survived.”

“Could we look for them?”

His quills went back, and his tail lashed from side to side, stirring up sand. “I cannot return to Nakkon. I received a life sentence.”

“Surely there are private investigators on Nakkon,” she said. “We can hire someone to search for them, and phones are a thing.”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, someone told me we don’t have to make any decisions right now.”

“This person sounds very wise.” His lips pulled back in a grin, revealing his fangs. The morning light cast a warm glow on his red scales.

She pressed her hand to his chest, to the heart that beat for her. “I want forever with you, if I haven’t said. You and me. Non-negotiable.”

He copied the gesture, placing a hand over her heart. “I accept your terms.”

Gah, she loved him so much and there he went, delivering the perfect line to make her laugh when she was having a moment.

She blinked, surprised to find her eyes wet, because when did that happen? Must be the sea breeze.

“I love you,” he said, pulling her in for a kiss. Apparently, he could also deliver the perfect line to make her swoon.

“When do we have to go back?” she asked.

“Soon,” he answered.

“But not today.”

“No, not today,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

“Or the day after that.”

EPILOGUE

MIRIAM

THREE MONTHS LATER

ANOTHER GOLD BIKINI. This time, Miriam wore loose fitting pants, but it was still an itty-bitty top designed to display all her goods. The outfit was annoyingly useful. When she wore it, she was no longer a person. She was property. Eyes just slid over her. If she could wear her normal white blouse and pants, she would, but protective camouflage and so on.

Miriam weaved her way through the crowded party and to the private area of the lavish residence. If anyone noticed her—they never noticed her—she’d claim to be meeting someone for personal entertainment.

An arm wrapped around her, pulling her back against a solid chest. “What are you doing here all on your own, female?”

Perrigaul nuzzled the crook of her neck, near the scar he left. A thin piece of synthetic skin covered the mark.

She relaxed in his hold. “You caught me. I'm nothing but a common thief. Have mercy on me.”

“A thief. Do you know what we do with thieves around here?”

She twisted around and caught his lips with her own.

“An unusual approach,” he said with a grin. His quills were pulled back in a knot, and he wore well-tailored black tunic and trousers. Fine gold embroidery on the cuffs caught and glimmered in the light.

She ran a hand over the smooth, impossibly soft fabric. Such an outfit wasn’t practical for everyday wear, but it suited him. Perrigaul had the right build for a lean, elegant look. “You clean up real nice,” she said.

Footsteps approached in the distance. She tensed, but Perrigaul lifted her chin for another kiss. Starting soft, it grew heated. Miriam melted against him, completely forgetting their audience until the person made a crude comment as they passed by.

“Am I allowed to compliment your appearance?” Perrigaul asked. He slid a finger under the shoulder strap, moving it down.

“Only if it’s about how smart this outfit makes me look,” she answered in a dry tone. He knew she considered the gold bikini a necessary evil.

He huffed with amusement. “Your intelligence shines, no matter what you wear, especially when you wear nothing. It’s in the eyes.”

“Nice recovery.” She stepped back and pushed the strap back over her shoulder. “What’s our window for time?”

Perrigaul glanced at the antique watch on his wrist. It was such a relic, a device that only did one thing with low tech, that only the rich could afford it. “We need to move. Did you acquire it?”

“Easy peasy. No one notices the serving girls.”

Miriam held up her hand. On her thumb was a thin sheet of artificial skin, this one with the fingerprint of the house’s owner. She carried a drink tray through the party for an hour before their mark finally gave her an empty glass. The print transfer was as easy as picking up the glass and rolling her thumb over a smudged fingerprint.

“Let’s move,” he said, going deeper into the private quarters.

Their mark was a collector of religious artifacts and a former prison administrator on Reazus Prime. Nowadays, he lived a luxurious life on a station not far from the former prison planet. It was far enough away to be safe from the abandoned inmates and outlaws the planet attracted, but also far enough away from the core worlds that notions of the law enforcement were flexible.

Years ago, though, he’d trade special consideration for an inmate if his collection received a donation. Sometimes the special consideration was a reduced sentence, a ticket off the planet, housing, or even something as basic as adequate food and medical care.

It was gross, and Miriam’s skin crawled as the man suffered no consequences. He got to live in comfort on a lavish station with his trinkets and pretty artifacts, hosting parties for the worst sort of rich degenerates.

Two months ago, Perrigaul received a message from an inmate’s family member. It seems the family traded a set of gold plates to the collector in exchange for the release of their child. The collector received payment, but tragically the inmate died in a riot before he could be smuggled out. The family had waited patiently for the plates to be returned for over twenty years.

Their patience was at an end.

That was how Miriam and Perrigaul stumbled on their new profession as thieves who righted wrongs. Well, this was their first time out so calling it their new profession was optimistic. It was a very Robin Hood situation, and she was okay with that. More than okay.

Perrigaul and Miriam worked on their plan with Faris, who said he wasn’t interested. The gleam in his eye betrayed him, but Miriam knew he wouldn’t leave Alice’s side for long when she was heavily pregnant. They had a limited window to do what they needed to do.

At the end of a long corridor, they reached their goal. Perrigaul gestured at the security panel outside the door, and Miriam pressed her thumb against the pad.

An amber light flashed, a mechanism unlocked, and the door swung open.

“I can’t believe that worked,” she said.

“You have such little faith,” Perrigaul chided. At the base of the door frame, he dropped a small cube on the ground. It expanded into a block. “Just in case the door closes on us.”

The room was dim, lit only by spotlights over the individual pieces of the collection. They were tastefully arranged on shelves and in glass cases. The space felt like a museum, down to the little information plaque in front of the items.

Miriam’s lip curled in disgust. Each figurine, clay jar, or icon painted in black and trimmed in gold, had been traded for a life.

“I can’t believe there hasn’t been some kind of tribunal for Reazus Prime. What that place did—”

“It was a prison. No one is interested in justice.”

“Well, I am,” she said.

Perrigaul homed in on their target. In a glass case on a white base, illuminated from below, sat two golden plates. Side by side, metal rings bound the plates together like a book. A stylized script had been etched into the surface of the plate. Miriam’s translation chip struggled to make sense of the words.

“Here.” Perrigaul pointed to another security panel.

The glass case opened as she pressed the decoy thumb to the pad.

Perrigaul held two replicas. They were bad copies, painted gold and riddled with lead slugs to give them the weight of the originals. They would fool no one.

“Are you sure about this?” she asked. “There doesn’t seem like a lot of security for such a valuable collection.”

“The real security measure is the pressure plate. You can see the lip there.” He pointed to a faint indentation in the base in the golden plates.

He eyed the originals and weighed the fakes in his hand, ultimately removing a lead slug from the decoy.

His free hand hovered over the original.

Miriam held her breath, waiting.

He made the swap and immediately jumped back, cradling the golden plates to his chest.

The air was still.

He turned to her and smiled. “See? Nothing to worry about.”

The pressure plate slowly slid down with a grating noise. An alarm blared. The door to the room swung shut, but the block Perrigaul left in the doorjamb prevented it from closing entirely.

“Run!” Perrigaul grabbed her hand and pulled her through the room.

Her heart pounded in her chest as her ridiculous slippers skidded across the polished floor.

Guards were already in the corridor, cutting off the way they came.

Perrigaul ducked into a small utility room. Cleaning supplies and fresh linens cluttered a workbench.

“I think we’ll take the servants’ entrance,” he said.

Miriam tried the far door. “It’s locked.”

“Any lock can be broken,” he said, then kicked at the security panel until the screen cracked. Brutal but effective. The door opened onto a small corridor that ran parallel to the corridor they just left. “Places like this never want to see the help.”

“The house I grew up in had a set of narrow stairs in the kitchen that the maid used,” Miriam said. Those stairs had been narrow and steep, and she never understood how anyone was expected to carry up and down loads of laundry without breaking their neck.

Thoughts of home no longer filled her with guilt and indecision. She would return to Earth, hug her moms, and introduce them to their son-in-law. It wouldn’t happen tomorrow, or the day after, but soon enough. She couldn’t wait to see them again.

Perrigaul and Miriam hurried along the narrow corridor. Each second wasted decreased the likelihood of making a clean getaway. They ran through the kitchen and the staging area, overturning platters of bite-sized morsels and drinks. An exhausted woman waved a dirty pan at them, cursing in a language Miriam had never heard before.

The kitchen had a loading dock for accepting deliveries. They burst through and found themselves in a service corridor.

A horn blared, and a vehicle the size of a golf cart rolled to a stop.

“Now is not the time to sightsee. Get in,” Faris said. Crammed in behind the wheel, the large man had to be uncomfortable but he smiled like this was the most fun he had in ages.

Perrigaul lifted Miriam and set her in the back. He leapt over the side, whacked the side of the cart twice, and they were off.

"What kept you?” Perrigaul asked.

“I arrived in time,” Faris said.

“You were supposed to be waiting, not arriving in time.”

“And you were supposed to avoid the alarms.”

“There were complications,” Perrigaul admitted.

Faris drove the cart like they were on a racetrack. He took a series of seemingly random turns, going further into the belly of the station. A service corridor ran behind every shop, every residence, and every facility. Many of those corridors had no security cameras, for a variety of reasons, usually shady. This was a station on the fringes of respectability, after all. At a particularly sharp corner, Miriam clutched the side of the cart. The bag containing a change of clothes rolled along the floorboards.

“You have grown sloppy,” Faris said, turning to look back at Perrigaul.

“Eyes on the road,” Miriam snapped. Satisfied that they weren’t about to crash, she opened the bag and pulled on a bulky sweater.

“Did you acquire the item?” Faris asked, keeping his gaze forward.

“I always do,” Perrigaul answered. He stretched a lazy arm along the side of the cart as he watched Miriam pull a skirt over the nearly translucent pants.

She caught him watching and raised an eyebrow. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“How was your first crime?” he asked.

“Bold of you to assume that’s the first time I committed a crime,” she answered.

“Miriam, I have met you.”

Yeah, she had been a goody-two shoes back home. “Yeah, well, one time I totally knocked this guy on his tail.”

“He had it coming,” Faris said over his shoulder.

They arrived at the ship and left the station without incident.

“We’ll be back home in an hour,” Perrigaul announced, turning the navigation over to the ship's computer.

Miriam leaned against the back of his chair, her arms hanging over his shoulders. Home. She liked the sound of that.

Perrigaul reached a hand up and tugged on a lock of her hair. His quills went up, and he jerked his head toward the door.

“I think I’ll take a shower,” she said, pulling away. She heard Faris’s laughter as Perrigaul scrambled to follow.

Nearly four years ago, Miriam crashed her coworker’s camping trip to apologize. She had no clue the turns her life would take, but every twist and bump in the road brought her here, to her heart.

AFTERWORD

This book made me work, so thank you for being patient and reading Miriam and Perrigaul’s story. With the covid delay, brain fog, and extensive edits, I don’t think I’ve ever had so much work to do getting a book finished.

Special thanks go to my editors, Lindsay and Aaron. They were super understanding when I sent an email asking for a few extra days when I became ill, then amazingly understanding when my “few extra days” turned into a month. They are superstars!

Keep flipping for artwork of Miriam and Perrigaul. Art by Ruslana Shybinska.

As for what happens next… I have some ideas. Will the gang ever make it back to Earth? What’s Ari getting up? I’ve got plans for him.

Finally, if you enjoyed the book (or even if you didn’t) please leave a review or a star rating. You don’t have to write an essay, just a simple “I liked this!” is perfect.

The best way to keep in the loop is to join my newsletter, follow my website, NanceyCummings.com, or join my Facebook readers group.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/895051017325998/

OUTLAW PLANET MATES

Don’t miss out on the rest of the series! They are standalone books and can be read in any order.

https://nanceycummings.com/outlaw-planet-mates/

Alien’s Mercy - Leslie Chase

Alien’s Treasure - Elin Wyn

Alien’s Jewel - Ava York

Alien’s Challenge - Nancey Cummings

Alien’s Stone Heart - Lynnea Lee

Alien’s Fate - Eden Ember

Alien’s Sacrifice - Cady Austin

Alien’s Bounty - Lena Grey

Alien’s Surrender - Harper Rosling

Alien’s Fire - Lynnea Lee

Alien’s Power - Ember Eden

Alien’s Princess - Cady Austin

Alien’s Captive - Sonia Nova

Alien’s Temptation - Cara Wylde

Alien’s Gamble - Elin Wyn

Alien’s Claim - Eden Ember

Alien’s Heart - Nancey Cummings

Alien’s Stake - Elin Wyn

Alien’s Redemption - Cara Wylde

Be sure to check out The Hub reader’s group on Facebook for news about the rest of the series!

https://www.facebook.com/groups/854826322125572

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Join Nancey’s newsletter and get a FREE copy of Claimed by the Alien Prince.

Get it at here:

https://dl.bookfunnel.com/jektemqay4

Nancey Cummings is a USA Today bestselling author of fun, flirty and fast stories featuring sassy heroines, out-of-this-world heroes, all the mischief they can managed and plenty of steamy fun. Hopefully you want to read them too.

She lives in an old house with an out-of-control yard with her husband and a cat.

Join Nancey’s Facebook reader group for early teasers and whatnots.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/895051017325998/

ALSO BY NANCEY CUMMINGS

Warlord Bride Index (with Starr Huntress)

Snowed in with the Alien Warlord

Alien Warlord’s Passion

Alien Warlord’s Miracle

Warriors of Sangrin (with Starr Huntress)

Paax

Kalen

Mylomon

Vox

Warlord’s Baby

Seeran

Rohn

Jaxar

Havik

Lorran

Ren

Caldar

The Alien Reindeer’s Bounty

Delivered to the Aliens

Outlaw Planet Mates

Alien’s Challenge

Alien’s Heart (coming November 2022!)

Tail and Claw (Celestial Mates)

Have Tail, Will Travel

Pulled by the Tail

Tail, Dark and Handsome

Tattle Tail

Valos of Sonhadra

Blazing

Inferno

Splintered Shadow (Shattered Galaxies)

Taken for Granite (Khargals of Duras)

Dragons of Wye (with Juno Wells)

Korven’s Fire

Ragnar

Alpha Aliens of Fremm

Claimed by the Alien Prince

Bride of the Alien Prince

Alien Warrior’s Mate

Alien Rogue’s Price

AVAILABLE IN AUDIO

WARRIORS OF SANGRIN SERIES (NARRATED BY LOGAN MCALLISTER)

Paax

Kalen

Mylomon

Vox

Warlord’s Baby

Seeran

Rohn

Jaxar

Snowed in with the Alien Warlord (Narrated by Logan McAllister)

Alien Warlord’s Passion (Narrated by Logan McAllister)

Taken For Granite (Narrated by Christian Stark)

Splintered Shadow (Narrated by Christian Stark)

Alien’s Challenge (Narrated by Conan Kennedy)

TAIL AND CLAW SERIES

Have Tail, Will Travel (Narrated by Hollie Jackson and Stephen Dexter)

Pulled by the Tail (Narrated by Jay Alder)

Tail, Dark and Handsome (Narrated by Jay Alder)

Tattle Tail (Narrated by Jay Alder)